A World in a Grain of Sand
by C.J.Ellison
Summary: Recaptured after the Battle of New York and awaiting his inevitable return to Asgard, SHIELD sends someone to monitor the imprisoned God of Mischief while he remains in their custody. Only, she seems too familiar for it to be pure coincidence- and Loki, impossibly, finds himself staring into the eyes of a living ghost. [Part I of Ice and Gold]
1. I: Persephone

_Everyone sees what you appear to be; few experience what you really are.  
_ Niccolò Machiavelli, _The Prince_

* * *

I. _Persephone_

There was nothing worse, Loki decided, than a prison cell walled in glass.

The still dream of a world beyond the holding chamber- a sealed control room of black steel, contrasting starkly with faded memories of soaring gilded halls and sculpted architecture and elaborate carvings that he had once called _home_ \- mocked him, its silence embroidered with the low electronic hum of the technology that monitored his every breath and movement, tracking his heart rate with detached efficiency. Loki could feel the irony rotting away at his insides. The glass cage was harshly lit by the ceiling and floor, so starkly white that it seared his retinas, in a sickeningly _clever_ design: there were no corners, no edges, no chinks, nowhere to begin or end to break it, and yet the walls left him exposed at every turn, as though he was inside a display case, contained in stasis and vitro, in a sterility that felt like starvation. It was, possibly, the worst kind of trapped; reminding him of everything he had spent his whole life quietly trying to escape, a manifest facsimile of everything that had ever preyed on his mind, shadowed his footsteps, gnawed at his heels.

All that was missing was the writhing slurry of horrors that had found him after his fall from the Bifrost- and even then, he had plenty of self-made nightmares living inside his skull- and the monster that they had wrought.

Loki had long accepted that he had no greater adversary than the one stood inside his cell. As Thor had jested what felt like a lifetime ago, he was incapable of honesty, even to himself.

The door slid open, and someone entered the room.

Loki threw a disinterested glance in the direction of the doorway. Catching sight of durable black fabric, and the figure ensconced in its efficient cut, he made the assumption that it was yet another nameless SHIELD agent, assigned the task of manually monitoring him to ensure he didn't escape- _again_ \- before he could be escorted back to Asgard.

However, when he heard the echo of steps pause at the foot of the stairs that led down onto the platform, he looked a second time.

Loki felt as though he had been simultaneously doused in ice water and set on fire.

Standing before the cell, her form was athletic but unassuming, a graceful slope to her shoulders and the traces of a confident lift in her bearing, sure as stainless steel and silk bindings. She wore a black jacket that zipped to the base of her throat, combat boots laced over taut flexible trousers, a holster belt strapped around her hips, pale blonde tresses braided back, rogue strands slipping loose to curl against dusk-bronze skin. The shade of her hair was duller than memory served, washed with lowlights of brunette- and her irises an unremarkable hazel- yet they telegraphed every shifting thought and mood behind them, like light fracturing into a web of aural threads through the surface of water, tugged to dance by the currents.

Loki, impossibly, found himself staring into the eyes of a living ghost.

For the longest time, they simply looked at each other. On his periphery, Loki could see the number tracking his heartbeat, displayed on one of the many screens surrounding the controls terminal, spiking silently in recognition and panic. His gaze swept over her, from the worn sole of her boots up to the corona of light gleaming at the crown of her head, and forced his expression into one of neutral appraisal.

"Well, look what they sent me this time," Loki commented in as offhand a tone as he could muster, , appearing to all the world as idly amused. "You are a new one."

She gazed back, cool as the northern star and unintimidated- making it that much harder for Loki to deny what he was seeing, his breathing suddenly feeling constricted by the matrix of hardened leather and etched metal of his armour.

 _This is not real._

"I'm only new to you," the agent replied calmly. Her voice was as crisp and clean as sea air; if Loki's

knowledge of Midgard served him, she was not American. Her accent, if anything, was textbook English.

The agent circled around his cell, only dropping his gaze when she reached the terminal. Smoothly dialling in a passcode, she conjured a flurry of images onto the translucent screens and began sifting through them. Loki examined her unashamedly, following the curve of her spine as she kept one hand braced against the sloped surface in front of her, the other skimming through the data onscreen with delicate precision. The zip of her jacket strained, and glided open into a deep plunging neckline, something heavy and gold spilling out.

Loki honed in on it, and felt his breath hitch.

The pendant jangled for a moment on its long fine chain, a single gem sparkling as it swung- before she tucked it back inside her jacket and tugged the zip back into place, her gaze never straying from the display in front of her.

Loki felt as though the world was tilting around him. It couldn't be real. It _couldn't_ be, but- unless- _unless_ -

"You're staring," she announced, still surveying the screens.

Loki swallowed his doubt, crushing it down.

"I was wondering something," he replied, his cadence so smooth and enticing that his voice may as well have been dipped in salted caramel.

Her eyes flicked up to meet his. "Oh?"

Loki flashed his most charming smile. "Is your name as pretty as you are?"

There was a long moment when she simply stared at him blankly.

Then her head dropped, her shoulders trembled, and she exploded with waves of genuine, helpless laughter.

Loki dragged in a sharp breath, lightheaded, lungs collapsing, blood singing in his ears, vision laced at the edges with black. If this was somehow real, then even in spite of the countless unanswerable questions that gaped through the situation like holes acid-burned through silk, he could at least be assured that a few things remained the same.

Finally, half-collapsed against the terminal, the agent straightened, raking strands of her fringe back from her face, and forced out, " _Oh_ … I'm sorry, but- that was- _awful_ -"

Loki chuckled in reply, glancing at the floor briefly, as he stepped closer to the concave panel of glass that separated them from each other.

"Truly, though- what should I call you? For the sake of courtesy. I'd like to know your name."

Her smile cooling, she gave a resigned sigh.

"SHIELD," she began reciting flatly, wandering around to the opposite side of the terminal as she spoke, "knows me as Fahrenheit." Leaning back against its edge, she stood in front of the station, looking directly at him. "As does practically every client I've worked for this side of the Atlantic. The others know me as Celsius. To avoid confusion, and for the file, they were combined into a full name- Celsius Fahrenheit. That is what you can call me."

Ignoring the fact that she had technically sidestepped his question- it _had_ been a somewhat elegant sidestep- Loki narrowed his eyes curiously. "You," he said slowly, taking another carefully measured step towards her, "are an Avenger?"

She considered the question, tilting her head to one side.

"No," she said. "But I am one of SHIELD's- outsourced assets. I have certain talents that they took an interest in, so I was…" she swivelled around, drawing up the current state of the security protocols surrounding the room in several windows, "persuaded. To come to work here for a while."

Loki crossed his arms, tracing a fingertip along his mouth as he observed her.

"And they sent you to me because they trust you not to fall for any of my tricks."

She shrugged, tilting one of the touch-interface screens towards her, adjusting its angle to suit the overhead lighting. "No one else wanted to," she said with preoccupied bluntness. "Fury pulled rank and made me do it- apparently he thinks I'm the least likely to turn off your oxygen or eject the cage and throw you into the ocean, and he doesn't want to risk a political incident with a realm full of aliens who can walk away from being sucker-punched by the Hulk."

There was a short moment of silence, Loki hiding a downright amused smile behind his hand.

A few seconds passed before the agent stiffened slightly.

"That was callous, wasn't it?"

"Yes."

Loki watched her eyes close, biting down on her lip.

"I- that was unnecessary, I shouldn't have-"

"On the contrary," Loki interrupted, laughing softly and pacing his cell, his movements languid, "your honesty is refreshing." She looked up, impassive as the flat of a knife, cerise-pink flooding back into the supple flesh of her lower lip as she released it from her teeth, the shade increased thrice over. Loki responded by a teasing quirk of his mouth. "Tell me. Are you are always this candid?"

She canted her head, reluctantly.

"I suppose."

"Then I suppose you will answer me honestly, if I ask if you are afraid of me."

"Director Fury once said I was too stubborn to feel fear," she replied evenly. "His way of calling me an idiot."

Loki hummed thoughtfully from the back of his throat, eyebrows contracting. "How uncharitable of Director Fury."

Her gaze flickered, speculative and suspicious. "You sound like you disagree."

"Absolutely." Loki leaned towards the transparent wall separating them, his voice darkening and becoming thick with quiet, seductive menace. "Because you are smart enough to know that you _should_ fear me."

He watched, gratified, as her breath stuttered for a fraction of a second and her cheeks blossomed with a hint of colour, turning her attention back to the monitors with forceful composure. Loki restrained a smirk. He saw through the most expert of façades and illusions as though they were cellophane, and she hid nothing. She wasn't intimidated by him in the slightest- cautious and viciously defensive, but not afraid.

The small device hooked over her right ear suddenly sparked to life.

" _Agent Fahrenheit?_ "

Director Nick Fury's standard commanding timbre was filtered by electronics, dampening it. The agent raised two fingers to her earpiece, speaking through the connection tonelessly.

"Sir."

" _You alright down there in the lion's cage?_ "

Her eyes met Loki's.

"Haven't gotten myself eaten yet."

Loki grinned at her wolfishly. She turned away briskly, grappling with an expression that was both amused and jaded, a strange blend that made Loki think, bizarrely, of honey and citrus.

" _Good- because you're going to be babysitting the God of Pain-In-My-Ass for the foreseeable,_ " Fury informed her. " _You've got thirty minutes to pick up whatever you need from your quarters to keep yourself entertained down there for a few days, before the Tesseract transport device is finished. And I should mention now that this assignment is in no way optional._ "

"I guessed as much, sir," she replied tonelessly. She tapped at the edge of the closest screen with her fingertip. "I was actually planning on checking on something- I think there's a malfunction with the audio feed. The transmission itself appears to be running fine, but it doesn't seem to be recording to the primary server." She tipped her head back to look at the ceiling, and Loki thought of how she would look so much more alive under open skies and natural light. "It's nothing urgent, since the security protocols are all operational. But it is _en route_ , so I'd rather go in person. It might take me a little longer if I do."

" _Fine by me, Agent F-_ "

" _Oh, and hey,_ " another voice interrupted suddenly, one that Loki had heard first through the electronic filter of a gold-titanium alloy suit, " _Hot Stuff- just remember to keep your guard up around Mr Tall, Dark and Clinically Insane down there. We all agreed that you're too pretty for evil mind control._ "

"Yeah, thanks, Stark." She replied in a voice like a whip. Loki smirked.

" _Stark has a point, Fahrenheit,_ " Fury said, sounding irritated by the intrusion. " _Don't let him get inside your head and start screwing around with whatever he finds in there. It took long enough and too much collateral for us to get him the first time. I do not need him running around blowing up another city. Are we clear?_ "

"Crystal, sir," the agent intoned with such cloying obedience that it could have been veiled mockery.

" _Good. I'm trusting you to handle him, Fahrenheit. Go ahead and check on the tech maintenance team, get them to look at the audio feed issue if you can't find the cause yourself. I'll have Agent Hill check on things up here, see if we can't find what's off._ "

The light glowing within the casing of the earpiece died, the connection cutting and falling silent. Her hand dropped and she looked towards Loki.

"Well, then. It appears I'm going to be here for a while."

"I daresay there are infinitely worse things than being trapped in your presence," Loki answered with complete sincerity.

"Hm." The agent turned on her the balls of her foot smoothly. "I _think_ I'll take that as a compliment," she said, turning to walk back up the steps towards the sole exit. She paused, primed with one foot on the first step, to look back at him over her shoulder. "I'll be back in less than an hour. Do me a favour and don't break out while I'm gone."

"I will be counting," Loki vowed warningly. His voice rose subtly in volume to ensure that she heard him as she left, echoing out across the metal-plated room firmly. "And I will promise to be here upon your return- given that you do so on time."

She laughed as she disappeared around the doorway, flicking her braid over her shoulder.

"Fair enough. You've got a deal."

* * *

The almost inaudible sigh of hydraulics releasing heralded the agent's return. Loki's eyes opened at the sound, his mental count pausing the moment he heard the door unlock.

"Forty-nine minutes, eighteen seconds," he announced at the light tap of footsteps on the steel floor. He turned to meet her as she descended from the upper platform. The straps of a duffel bag were slung over her left shoulder, a large sleek onyx-backed device in the same hand, pressed to hr chest, a candy-coloured cord of a pair of headphones wrapped around it. In the opposite hand she carried a heavy book, fingers hooked tenuously underneath its thick spine.

"You kept your word." He added.

"So did you," the agent returned, crossing the chamber, setting her tablet on the surface of the terminal and dropping her bag at her feet. She combed her fingers through her hair, releasing it from its braid into a buoyant mass of oak-blonde curls. "Who knew that you were capable of being honest?"

The comment, coming from her mouth, stung more than it should have.

"On Asgard, the act of giving your sworn word means something more than empty reassurances," he informed her coolly, rising from the bench built against the cell's far wall, stalking towards her with all the languorous grace of a panther, "and I gave you my word." Loki halted. "I _never_ make a promise I do not intend to keep."

The agent met his eyes, more steel than sunshine, fearlessly direct. Asgardians, however, were taught from youth never to surrender. Loki stared back steadily.

For the longest moment, she was silent.

Slowly, she took a single, meaningfully deliberate step towards him, the sound ricocheting.

"Neither do I."

Loki studied her carefully. She seemed to be debating something in her mind, gripping her upper arms, crossed like a shield over her chest and holding her book against her.

"Do you read much?"

He hadn't realised that his line of sight had drifted down until she spoke. Loki looked up.

"Avidly," he admitted softly, ignoring a resonant pang as his mind wandered back to the vast royal library that had once been his escape, his unspoken domain. "Although it usually depends on the author, especially concerning fiction." He canted his head to one side, reading the title embossed in the cover and spine in elegant metallic script. " _The Complete Works of Shakespeare_. A Midgardian work, I suppose."

"Yes," the agent replied tonelessly.

Loki raised an eyebrow expectantly, prompting her to elaborate.

She said nothing.

He held her glare, steadily, wordlessly convey that he wasn't exactly going anywhere.

Like watching the sun's progress as it edged over the horizon, the hard edge of her mouth melted a grudging fraction, a glint of gold igniting in her eyes.

"William Shakespeare. We call him the Bard. He was a playwright and poet in England during the Elizabethan era- easily one of the most influential and recognised wordsmiths in the history of the English language."

"Ah, I see. An acclaimed writer from your homeland," Loki intoned. "You must be quite attached."

She blinked. "How- did you know-?"

Loki threw her a deeply amused look.

" _Please_. I _do_ know the geography of the world I intended to rule- the diversity of the terrain and climate, locations of its richest resources, points of weakness of both natural and artificial creation, the rapid evolution of territory borders, alliances, trade, culture, technology, nuances of language and dialect-" He grinned roguishly as she stared at him, speechless. "It was hardly _difficult_ to place your accent. Besides, you yourself already implied that you are not from this region."

She simply stared at him for a moment. Her heel slid backwards behind her, like a dancer slipping into her next step.

"You're right. I'm not."

She turned away powerfully, and Loki crushed down a bite of frustration and a flicker of admiration as he watched her take a seat behind the terminal, slipping into the sculpted leather and cracking open her book where it was marked with a strip of ribbon. Mirroring her, Loki returned to bench at the back of the cell, resigned to hold his tongue.

Patience was, at least, one virtue that Loki could lay claim to.

It had to be thirty minutes later when she looked up again, and found him staring at her.

Her eyebrows rose.

"I was wondering something," Loki said in response to her unasked question.

"You mean again?"

Loki heard himself laugh. "Shakespeare: you hold him in great esteem. Is his work really that goods?"

He expected another flat confirmation. Instead her expression gave way into something startlingly unreadable.

She stood abruptly, waking around the perimeter of his cell and disappearing behind one of the titanium pillars sealing the panes of glass together, humming gently with a strong electromagnetic charge. Loki heard a series of digital beeps, followed a _click_ , and a heavy clatter- and a curved panel, formerly fused seamlessly into the column, snapped out on a hinge before him.

She remerged into his line of sight empty-handed, and returned to her terminal without a passing glance. Loki looked on, politely perplexed.

"See for yourself," the agent said, drawing up the monitoring programmes across several screens, comets of blue light chasing the pads of her fingers. "Maybe an appreciation for Earth- _Midgardian_ literature will make you less inclined to want to dominate the planet as a despotic demigod."

Loki quirked an eyebrow at the slip of a girl that SHIELD had sent to guard him, a shadow of a smile crossing his face. He could read an unspoken offer of a truce behind the action- one that others might have mistaken for weakness or naivety- but Loki knew better.

"I can see why they chose you."

"Can you?"

Her voice sent smouldering warmth blossoming inside Loki's chest.

Stepping backwards towards the exposed hatch, Loki swung its over open with his fingertips. A small compartment was concealed within the pillar- a simple sensible installation, designed for the transfer of items between the cell and main chamber without the main gate being compromised- the book deposited inside and the exterior panel fastened shut. Carefully, Loki extricated the book, closing the panel with the _snap_ of an automatic lock. His fingertips traced over the supple leather bindings, testing its pages; Loki did not need experience with Midgardian bookmaking to recognise that it was of an uncommonly high quality and expense, well-read but in immaculate condition. Idly, he cracked it open and flipped through, wandering back to the centre of the cell as he skimmed.

He halted, something catching his eyes as it flashed past him on the previous page, and he turned back curiously.

Sketched meticulously, underscoring three printed lines of text, were a few strokes of pencil lead, light as air.

Loki chanced a glimpse at the agent. Her back was to him, standing in front of the terminal she had claimed as her workspace. Loki visually tracked the web of shadow of her hair against the smooth curvature of her spine, the almost imperceptible strain of tiredness pulled taut inside her shoulder blades, tracking its way up to her neck.

" _Who could refrain,_ " he recited quietly- the very words underlined in the book, " _that had a heart to love, and in that heart-_ "

" _Courage to make love known_." The agent finished under her breath, frozen, her hand hovering above a sheet of interactive glass. "That's… that's _Macbeth_ ," she said softly.

"Yes."

Loki paused.

"So- this is why they sent you."

"I- _what_?"

His response was detached from all coherent thought patterns.

"A quotation underlined in a book. Such a little thing. But from this alone I can deduce that you are- exceptionally loyal," Loki said, watching for her reaction. "Instinctively truthful, even to a fault- but perceptive, and a remarkably good judge of character. And anger- true, pure, unadulterated _anger_ \- is so rare from you that, once someone makes the grave error of awakening the hellfire underneath, it is something to be _feared_."

The agent was as motionless as a statue, listening breathlessly.

"Such a strange one you are," he continued quietly. "A mercenary, a professional murderer, yet still you speak and act in accordance to your heart- in accordance to the truth as you find it, not the truth that you are told."

Her hand dropped to her side, breath rushing out of her.

"I like to think that," she said, more to herself than to him. "But most people do. And _truth_ is often a matter of perspective. As for _loyalty_ \- loyalty is such a- _complicated_ thing sometimes. If you try to be loyal to everything you value, something always ends up conflicting eventually."

"Hence your brutal honesty," Loki said, tracing over the indistinct pencil lines. "You would rather cease breathing than change that. It anchors you, like a self-imposed chain, a line you will not cross."

The agent almost laughed.

"You got all of _that_ from three lines of Shakespeare?"

Loki gave a smile that was both guileless and guilty. "I suppose he does possess some talent."

This time, she did laugh- short and terse, but real enough to crack and brush away a little of the tension.

"Alright." The agent spun on her heel sharply, palms and heels of her hands braced on the edge of the terminal behind her, one ankle crossed over the other. "The same play. Act One, Scene Five. Lady Macbeth's speech, lines sixty-two to sixty-six."

Loki arched an eyebrow at her- _how precise_ \- before flipping back deftly until he had located the section she was referring to.

" _Your face, my thane, is a book where men may read strange matters_ ," he read aloud, his eyes tracking ahead of his tongue, the corners of his mouth coiling upwards like smoke. " _To beguile the time, look like the time. Bear welcome in your eye, your hand, your tongue. Look like th' innocent flower but be the serpent under 't_."

He looked up to see the agent watching him expectantly.

"Appropriate," she said nonchalantly, "I thought, for you."

Loki smirked. "I confess myself flattered that you chose to memorise it for me."

She was silent and inscrutable, neither confirming or denying it. Surrendering the point, Loki flipped through the tome. "I take it there are a number of plays in here."

"That _is_ what the title _Complete Works_ would imply."

"Then where would you recommend that I begin?"

She circled around her terminal to her former seat. " _The Merchant of Venice_." She picked up her tablet, unravelling the vivid wire of her headphones. " _Hamlet_." She took her seat once again, curling and tucking her legs underneath her. " _Othello_." She pressed one silicon bud into her left ear, the other still occupied by her headset, tablet cradled in her lap. "In _that_ order."

" _The Merchant of Venice_ ," Loki echoed slowly, " _Hamlet_ … and _Othello_. Very well- let us measure the quality of a Midgardian wordsmith."

She ignored this, pretending- albeit unconvincingly- that she could not hear him over the music thrumming and hissing through the bright slim cord extending down from one ear, the other earbud hanging loose on its connected wire.

Hours passed.

She sat. He read.

Occasionally, captivated by the scenes unfolding across the pages before him in eloquently wrought iambic pentameter, intricately metaphorical or viscerally literal, he found himself murmuring the lines aloud, drawing echoes of reactions that brightened the agent by degrees. Occasionally, Loki looked up and watched her, seeing the slightest of creases appear between her eyebrows as she watched something on her tablet's screen, zooming in, adjusting, scrolling, and he wondered what she was looking at. Occasionally, he would comment on a character and the chamber suddenly filled with conversation, flowing as liberally as the wine and mead at an Asgardian gala, enmity briefly ousted by mutual boredom and replaced by something simpler and cleaner. As time passed she relaxed her guard, listening to his commentary diplomatically, debating whenever she disagreed, allaying reluctantly when they agreed- and Loki felt something wrench, unnervingly, as he began to discern uncomfortable patterns within the characters favoured by the young agent before him. He listened as she lamented the fate of the introspective, tortured Prince Hamlet of Denmark, driven into paranoia and madness by the ghost of his father. He listened to her sympathise hauntingly with Ophelia, the young woman broken by mistreatment, conflicting allegiances and the powerlessness of her own existence. He listened to her defend Shylock, unravelling him a product of cyclic hate, refused the same mercy preached to him. He listened to her admire Portia for her quick wit and sheer, sharp audacity.

Only when he drew to the blood-soaked conclusion of _Titus Andronicus_ did the carefully constructed atmosphere falter.

"I can never read or watch the end of that play without thinking what a terrible waste of life it is. Even if it is the price of peace, in the end," the agent said, absently casting a cursory look up at the digital displays, her tablet attached to the station by an electrical cord, recharging, on the surface before her.

Loki's response was monotone.

"Is it?"

Her expression snagged as she looked towards him questioningly, before collapsing into blankness.

"My apologies. I forgot who I was talking to for a moment."

Loki might have imagined it, but she seemed almost disappointed.

"You value life."

The agent glanced over him with all the sharp precision of a scalpel. "Yes."

Loki could feel his demons stirring, clawing at his ribs, tempting him to make a snipe at her inability to lie- _well, of course, you most certainly are not kin to the spider and the hawk; even a child could decode those pitiful little pretences of yours_ \- just to silence them.

Loki choked down a handful of words, tasting sour and caustic, before they could fully form on his tongue.

"Perhaps you have conditioned yourself to see something in life to value. In the same way that one who has lost everything finds pleasure in the simplest of things."

The accomplished liar that he was, most would not have noted the false ring behind the platitude.

The look in her eyes was shifting, changing over and over again, too fast to decipher. "It's more than that. But that's not the point. I wouldn't be here if I didn't value life."

"And I would not be here if I did," Loki finished on her behalf, habit usurping his tempered, measured words, overthrowing them in favour of a comfortable veneer of bitterness. "Is that not what you are saying?"

"Yes," she said, brutally honest but frustrated.

Loki's eyes narrowed, voice lilting with mockery.

"I appear to have made you _angry_."

The heel of her boot slammed with a rattling _bang_ against the edge of the terminal. Her rage was as lovely as arson and alcohol.

"Tell me that _you_ wouldn't want to hate _me_ if the positions were reversed. You killed people- senselessly- you would have destroyed Manhattan, you would have seen the world enslaved-"

Loki released a cruel laugh, the words slithering from his throat before he could stop them.

"Oh, and what a _world_ it is. One that subsides on the cycle of slaughter and betrayal and mindless discrimination that comes with a frenzied bid for power, wealth, prestige- yet it is your race that has the gall to call _me_ the barbaric one, when _your people_ create art from bloodshed, create paragons out of liars. What right have _you_ to judge what is _moral_?"

"What right have _you_?!" She exploded, her eyes glowing like molten iron, smouldering like embers, becoming feral with a burst of golden fire.

" _Centuries_ of experience," Loki snarled, his natural fluid cadence dissolving into venom and ice. He wondered, in a brief flickering moment of weakness, whether it was destined to forever be this way. "Trust me, sweetling- experience is a harsh teacher, but the most reliable one you will ever find. Life is _empty_. You, for all your shining virtues, will tarnish and be forgotten and betrayed. Those who are gloried and remembered are remembered for _lies_. There is no grand scale of justice, no cosmic balance, no _fairness_ in this universe. We are playthings of chance and circumstance, with no control over fate. Life has no great _meaning_ , regardless of how much we might wish it otherwise. Do not blind yourself to that."

She stared at him, and tilted her head back to stare at the ceiling, considering the advice with startling composure.

" _Life has no meaning_ ," she repeated slowly.

"I suppose you would dispute that as well," Loki said dryly, setting the book aside on the bench.

"No."

Loki froze.

"What?"

"I agree with you," the agent continued, raking her curls back from her face. "You're right, nothing lasts forever. None of this-" she gestured vaguely at their surroundings, "means _anything_ in the end. But that just means we get to choose a meaning for ourselves." She looked to him with an unexpected smile, warm and fierce and cold as a rose-gold dawn. "It's a terrifying responsibility. But it's ours. Our choices define us. It's not _fate_ , or _destiny_. It's free will. It's who we are in the dark, when no one else is watching- the decisions we make when there is no one else to perform for, no one to lie to, no one to influence us or force us- that really matter. So, tell me, _prince_." Her eyes were locked on him, holding such brilliant clarity that they hurt to look at. "What are you?"

Loki turned away forcefully. His jaw ached, clenched so tightly he thought the bone might fracture. "You seem to have already decided what-"

"And you think I would still be talking with you if I had?"

Loki's gaze snapped back to her. Her hair was swept back in a tousled mass behind her shoulders, gloves stripped off, the zip of her jacket loosened at the throat, affording him a glimpse of a narrow slice of bronzed skin and the curve of her clavicle. She seemed more constructed from splintered light than flesh, bright and painful.

It reminded him of an old Midgardian myth: Persephone, bright and indomitable in the depths of Tartarus.

" _Why_?" Loki heard himself ask hollowly.

Her expression shifted into genuine confusion.

"Why what?"

"Why are you- _here_? As you are?" His voice was empty to the point of sounding almost casual. "You should be baying for my blood."

"Probably." She replied, without warmth. "But I prefer to know a person before I hate them. If that is alright with you."

Loki tried to laugh disdainfully. The sound caught in his throat.

"Has no one ever told you that it is a foolish idea to play with things that you know to be dangerous? You might not want to get too close, _Agent_. _It is dark inside_ ," he warned her, leaning forwards, his elbows braced on his parted knees, hoping that those four simple words were enough to make her understand.

 _Run away, please, just run away. It will be easier if you just_ run _while you still can._

The agent laughed without smiling, crystalline and audacious.

"I have never been afraid of the dark, Loki."

It was the first time she had spoken his name- softening the first syllable an exhalation, snapping the second at the back of her tongue curtly. Its sound struck him like a blade to the chest, piercing through.

She was still speaking, oblivious to the effect of that one word. "And as my alias implies, I happen to be good at playing with fire. I've never burnt myself before."

"There is a first time for everything." Loki paused, noticing that she still had not looked away. "Do you ever tire of that?"

"Of what?"

"Holding a person's gaze."

She bit her lower lip, and her expression changed subtly with a smudge of hazy brightness. "Not really, no. Someone once told me that it was intimidating- as though I was looking _into_ them, rather than _at_ them. It's an effective interrogation technique."

"Is that why you have been employing it against me?"

She gave him a significant look from underneath her lashes.

"I would say that if there is any interrogation going on, it's the other way around."

That gave Loki a moment of pause. The agent blinked steadily, patiently waiting for his reply, despite having torn down a section of his defences and given herself a perfect opening for attack.

"You are more perceptive than I first gave you credit, darling," he eventually admitted.

The agent had a wickedly victorious glint in her eyes. "Don't feel bad. I'm more perceptive than most people give me credit."

Loki wavered as he watched her lean forwards, reaching for her tablet.

"One last question," he said abruptly. "Then I swear to leave you in peace."

She paused.

"Alright."

"Do you ever tire of it?" Loki repeated, softer than the first time he had uttered the words.

"What do you mean?"

Loki turned over his left wrist, elbow resting on his knee, until the open palm and heel of his hand faced towards the ceiling. His gold-steel vambrace gleamed with elaborate patterns, moulded from the metal smoothly and etched out in acid, dulled slightly by wear.

"Wearing your heart stitched upon your sleeve, _for the daws to peck at_."

The agent considered the question for a long moment.

"Never- _honest Loki_ ," she finally intoned, her gaze skimming towards the book resting beside him on the bench.

She looked away, pressing in her left earphone and rebooting her tablet from standby mode, settling it on her lap.

Loki kept his word. Picking up the tome by his side and relocating where he had left off, he left the agent to her devices.

The agent looked exhausted, her eyes sliding almost closed, edges defined by the ink-dark flick of her lashes, resting her cheek against her hand. Underneath the shadow of a light slumber, her eyes looked like Baltic amber, a halo of soft blonde making her softer, warmer.

A short burst of static issuing from her earpiece, followed by the low murmur of an indistinct voice, bought the steel surging back to her surface instantly. "Yes?" She replied immediately, voice creased like crumpled linen, suddenly wide awake. "Oh- of course. Right. Great, thank you… it's fine, I've functioned on less… hm? Oh, that's not- I don't really… well, thank you. Alright. Of course- and you."

The transmission cut off without ceremony, and the agent peeled herself out of her chair and rose to her feet, lacing her fingers together and stretching her arms over her head, extending her entire body upwards. Dropping back onto her heels with a sigh, she moved towards her duffel bag, still where she had dropped it over, and reached for its straps.

The book, still open in Loki's grasp, nearly slipped from his fingers.

"You're leaving?" He asked, almost too quickly.

The agent yawned, muffling it against the back of her hand. "Yes and no," she replied, and unzipped her bag, unceremoniously extracting a padded sleeping bag. "SHIELD's not stupid enough to leave you unmonitored after last time- but it's not as though a sleep-deprived guard is better than none. I'll sleep in here. There's an extra team outside as support in case you try anything, so please don't bother." She snapped the sleeping bag open and laid it on the floor, before sending him a sharp look. "Turn around, please."

Loki considered refusing, if only to see her reaction- but, after a second, he set the book aside on the bench and stood, turning his back to her and keeping his eyes respectfully fixed upon the glass, the shadow of his armour glinting in its reflection. He heard a rustle of clothing and the _snap_ of the clasps of her holster, soft thumps of fabric and heavier thuds of her boots as they were set aside, bare feet padding on the cold metal floor.

"Alright, turn."

Loki reclaimed his seat and saw that the agent had changed into a set of SHIELD standard-issue sleeping shorts and tank top, both jet-black- and was slightly amused when he noticed the familiar circular, stylised eagle crest emblazoned on her chest in bleached grey; the supposedly secret global organisation had an interesting interpretation of _secret_. She was combing out her hair over one shoulder, raised onto her tiptoes, tense in the chilled air being circulated through the chamber for the benefit of the machines' efficiency.

"I'm going to sleep for a few hours. Five or six at most," she said shortly. "Don't wake me up."

"And why not?" Loki couldn't help but ask.

"Because you were right about me," she said, thick as blood and potent as a shock of pain. "Because I have hacked through a person's chest wall before, held a beating heart in my hand, drilled into a person's skull, and you're locked in here within me for the next two days, at least." She swept her long hair over her shoulder, and her eyes flashed. "Because if you do, I won't give you another book."

Loki stiffened involuntarily. It was clever, he was willing to admit- revealing something that he hadn't even known was on offer.

" _Well_?"

Loki bit his tongue.

"I give you my word. I will not disturb you, indirectly or otherwise."

"Thank you," she said, sincerely, before kneeling. She unzipped the sleeping bag, peeling back the top cover, and reached towards her tablet. Loki glanced up in confusion as the glaring white lights inside his cell dimmed to an almost gentle glow. She noticed his reaction, and her shoulders twitched in an implied shrug. "I heard that Asgardians don't need much sleep. Is this enough light to read by?"

Loki, for a moment, lost his voice to the unexpected thoughtfulness. "It is, yes." After a heartbeat, he added, "Thank you."

She halted.

"You're welcome."

He watched her, eerie in the low light, as she slid into the sleeping bag, her back to him, tucking her arm beneath her head as a pillow. Her long hair seemed to flash with rose-gold, pretty and delicate against the synthetic black.

"Well… goodnight," she said softly.

" _Good night, good night,_ " Loki quoted in an absent murmur. " _Parting is such sweet sorrow…_ "

He heard her stifle a yawn. " _That I shall say good night 'til it be morrow…_ "

The agent curled up tighter underneath the coverings, shifting them around her.

Her voice was almost bored when she spoke again.

"Oh, by the way, you can stop now. I couldn't let you out even if I wanted to. Director Fury didn't give me the code for the door release, at my own suggestion."

"I suspected as much," Loki replied calmly. "You should sleep, _hækkaði_."

Her reply was a low, tired hum, not registering the words beyond their low persuasive timbre. She slipped away in what felt like moments, her breathing easing.

 _Too long_ , Loki thought to himself. _It has been far,_ far _too long._


	2. II: Catharsis

II. _Cartharsis_

The hours of the night seemed to pass as slowly as dripping resin, seconds trickling into hours, the silence embroidered by the low hum of coolant in pipes overhead and the high-voltage electrical currents sealing the cell shut. The tableau was eerie to the outsider's eye; two figures, dashes of living colour on monochrome, a gulf of sterile silver between them, like a classic painting or fresco of an iconic scene from legend given breath.

Loki let the agent sleep, as promised, combing through each play and sonnet within the volume's bindings. Her lashes barely fluttered, the rhythm of her breathing steady and comfortable, one arm cast over her chest and the other draped above her head, the contours of her face illuminated by the dim white light emanating from his cell- unburdened and astoundingly vulnerable, contrasting Loki's tense, wakeful form on the other side of the glass.

Sleep did not claim him, but in the darkness he dreamed of twilight and the night-blooming cereus, the sweet, pliable, fragrant petals unfurling under moonlight, of enchanted slumber and castles of ice, of nightingales and larks, and the death of spring, and withered violets flooded with vitality.

The agent's inability to lie did not extend to a lack of stealth. Long after he had lost track of time, he happened to glance up from his second reading of _Coriolanus_ , found her missing, and felt something that he refused to call panic. She returned minutes later, silent as a spectre and unapologetic under his mildly accusing stare, dressed and with a glimmer of water lingering on her skin, turning up the cell's lights in an artificial duplicate of daybreak. Still, several hours of uninterrupted sleep seemed to have earned him a measure of trust- or persuaded her to call a ceasefire. Either way, the agent's hostility towards him had corroded into almost nothing, belied only by the distance she kept from the perimeter of his cell, sipping from a flask of green tea, as though she did this every morning.

"Hypothetically, if I were to ask you some questions, would you answer them?"

Loki looked up. The gaze waiting for him was so intense that it made looking at the agent like to trying to stare into the sun, visceral as bare bone.

Loki considered her question, setting aside the second book she had delivered to him- a relatively slim volume, containing a collection of poetry. "That would depend," he said carefully, "on whose questions they were. Yours or SHIELD's?"

Her head cocked to one side, bright as a canary, but her expression remained serious.

"I'm not SHIELD's mouthpiece."

Loki tapped a fingertip against the cover of the book resting next to him on the bench. The agent had left her hair to dry naturally, the haphazard braid darkened to a shade of honeycomb by the water dripping from it, having forgone her uniform in favour of a pair of dark-wash jeans and a cashmere sweater, its neckline shallow and wide across the tops of her shoulders. There was something breakable and tousled and _real_ about her, dressed just so; she was perched on the edge of her seat, legs crossed and barefoot, arms and most of her hands engulfed by her long sleeves, patiently awaiting his response.

They were both idle, he supposed, the request harmless enough- Loki was more than willing to try keeping her sweet, if answering a few questions was all that was asked.

Besides, she had not specified that he was obliged to answer _honestly_.

"In that case, I suppose I could consider it," Loki said, lacing his fingers together loosely. "Ask."

She paused, lower lip pressed to the matte plastic rim of her flask.

"Do you ever take that armour off?"

For a moment, Loki simply stared at her expressionlessly.

" _That_ is your first question," he finally managed to say, finding himself both mildly amused and a little exasperated. "Of all things."

"Indulge me," she said defensively. "I was just thinking that it doesn't look comfortable, that's all."

Her eyes revealed what her mouth didn't, tracing his contours, studying the protective mesh of mail, complexes of interlocking charcoal leather, bright flashes of gold and hints of deep forest-green at hem and seam. Loki remained obligingly motionless as she lingered over the sculpted metal- the pauldron at his right shoulder, sharp-edged and dual layered; the plate of the slim strong strap that secured it across his chest, mouldings sinuous and serpentine; his gauntlets, etched and embossed- as though mapping out its designs with her mind's fingertips.

"A weakness for armour, sweetling?"

The agent's gaze darted back to his, abashed.

"Maybe." She rested her chin on the heel of her hand, palm clamped over her mouth and muffling her words. "I've always admired good craftsmanship."

 _Yes, I remember._

"Yes, in answer to your question, I remove it," Loki said, swiftly strangling the thought before it could show. "And, no, it is not the most comfortable attire I have ever worn, but my formal armour was worse." The agent shifted, slipping one ankle underneath the opposite knee, curious and attentive. "The breastplate was solid Asgardian golden steel, wrought and cast by the finest metalworkers in Nidarvellir. It was a magnificent piece, but not exactly made for reclining- not that comfort was the point, of course."

"Wait- you have _more_?"

"Three variations, each with a different use; or five, if you wish to be exacting on the details," Loki answered lightly. The agent unconsciously leaned towards the thick glass that separated them, and he spread his arms either side of himself demonstratively. "The one you see before you is a balance of both protection and flexibility."

" _Oh_."

Loki couldn't help but smirk.

"I could stand and twirl, if you like. Just say the word."

" _Shut up_."

Loki laughed.

The agent drew in a short breath that jolted her from her reverie, slumping back, and took another long draught of tea.

"Okay. Next question. How tall are you?"

Loki sighed, resigned. "In Midgardian units- six feet and three inches."

" _Six-three_?!"

"You don't have to sound so horrified. How tall are _you_?"

She blushed, half-hidden behind her flask.

"Five-three in flats."

Loki found himself laughing again, entirely without mockery. "Why, _Agent_ ," he purred shamelessly, "you are but a darling little _doll_."

Her reaction was like naked flame exposed to a sudden plume of oxygen. "Thisdoll can break bone."

Loki smiled rakishly.

"I do not doubt it, _hækkaði_."

The agent glared flatly. Loki thought of the many who must have underestimated the young woman before him- those who must have smirked at silky blonde curls and a pretty mouth and allowed their guards to drop, and promptly found themselves flat on their backs with the sole of a boot pressed to their throat.

"Next question, little one."

"Don't call me that," the agent said abruptly, draining her flask, the column of her throat curving as she tilted her head back, the hollow at the base of her neck deepening. Loki caught the subtle threat in her words, acquiescing with an innocent gesture of surrender. "Which reminds me. Why don't you use my name?"

Loki's expression was openly scathing, an eyebrow arching.

"Because it is not your real name," he stated, as though it were painfully obvious.

"Or you are insinuating that you don't see me as worthy of having one, or that it is worth remembering," the agent added conversationally, elbow resting on the arm of her chair and examining her flask with idle fascination, reminiscent of the way that someone else might assess the value of a large uncut jewel, "or you are just mocking me with empty endearments."

"Or it could be that I believe that any false name is unworthy of you," Loki interjected frostily. "And nothing I have called you was ever intended mockingly. If there is something you would rather I not use, simply say the word, and I will stop."

She turned to stare at him.

"You don't mean that," she said, completely without conviction.

"You know that I do. But, if it will help, you have my sworn word."

She observed him cautiously. Loki suddenly realised how capricious he must seem to her, a paradox of taunts and compliments and compromises.

"Fine. If you insist on calling me _something_ \- you're not allowed to use _little one_. Or _pet_." She sighed, annoyed. "I would prefer _agent_."

"I could try my hand at more _agent_ ," Loki compromised. "And no _little one_ or _pet_. I promise you."

She strummed her fingers against her arm thoughtfully.

"You're respecting me."

"Is that so odd?"

"Yes," she said, as though it was obvious.

Loki replied with an elegant flick of his wrist in dismissal. "Next question."

He watched the agent crush the fragrant water out of her braid absently, dripping from her fingers and pattering onto the metal floor. Her gaze was somewhere else when it finally lifted to his.

"Why are your eyes green?"

"Melanin," Loki answered dryly.

"No," the agent said, her expression hardening, repeating herself slowly. " _Why are your eyes green, Loki?_ "

Loki stared at her for a moment, an eyebrow lifting in bemusement.

Then he made the connection.

Keeping his expression carefully neutral, he said, "My eyes are green because they are green. What more is there to tell?"

"Do not lie to me." She said, diamond-sharp, sufficient to slice a soul. "You know what I am asking."

"I am afraid I don't."

" _Do not. Lie._ " The agent intoned again. "You haven't lied to me yet. Please do not start now."

"I am the _God of Lies_ , sweetling," Loki replied shortly, a hint of deliberate hauteur colouring his tone. Emotion was a volatile thing; if he pushed hard enough at her temper, she would snap, and her focus would slip. "How do you know I have not lied to you a thousand times over by this point?"

For a long moment, she said nothing.

Slowly, the agent set her empty flask aside on the terminal, the clank of the hollow aluminium on metal ringing out.

"Would you like to know why Fury chose me," she asked calmly, "of all of those at his disposal in SHIELD, to guard you? Would you like to hear why SHIELD wanted me badly enough to hunt me down in the first place? Controlled arson and stealth- they could source that anywhere, don't you think?"

Loki suddenly felt as though he was hanging from the edge of a sheer precipice- the brittle, broken, shattered edge of the Bifrost, floating above the endless chasm of space, its cosmic maw prepared to swallow him once again.

"I can't lie. They taste bad in my mouth. I can't make them convincing. But I know when I'm being lied to," the agent said without waiting for a response. Her tone was frighteningly level. "I- _perceive the truth of everything_. People call me a _living lie-detector_. No matter what the lie, no matter who tells it, I _always_ know. Natasha Romanoff has proven repeatedly that she can pass the best polygraphs in the world with a mouthful of lies and yet she can't beat _me_. _That_ is why SHIELD wanted me: to help them develop a system that even she cannot cheat."

The agent, suddenly, was walking towards the containment chamber. Loki startled slightly, just barely repressing the urge to inch back as she halted in front of the glass.

"You know, the first thing I noticed about you when I met you," she mused, wrapping her arms around herself, as though the chill from the air conditioning was finally seeping through the thin cashmere, "was your eyes. That emerald green- until yesterday I had never seen eyes like yours, natural or otherwise. It's striking. But then I began to wonder why I hadn't noticed it before. I had seen you before, in video feeds from when SHIELD was searching for you, and the captures from the PEGASUS facility when you arrived here. I've had a lot of time on my hands recently, , so I decided to check the footage yesterday- from the research base, from Stuttgart, from the Helicarrier- I even managed to get the camera feeds from Stark Tower. And, strangely, in every single last one, your eyes were this blue- _pale_ blue, almost luminous, except for two occasions-"

"Stop," Loki hissed, suddenly seeing exactly where she driving, " _stop_ -"

"Once, when your brother pleaded with you to stop, and you said that it was too late. But for just a moment, you looked scared," the agent continued, smooth and level, "as though you realised exactly what you had done, what was happening- panicking- like you were coming back into yourself-"

" _Stop it_ -!"

"The second was after the Hulk smashed you into a crater in the penthouse of Stark Tower. From that point, on every single camera system I accessed, your eyes were green- the exact same green that they are now, the same green that I see onscreen when I check the live feed outgoing from this room. It's _not_ the lighting. And it is _not_ the cameras."

Her hand pressed hard against the glass. Loki was coiled so taut he thought he might snap, refusing to look directly at her.

"It's curious," the agent said softly, "Natasha told me that she managed to break the mind control on Clint with a _hard blow to the head_."

" _Stop._ " The word was suddenly a plea, his vision glossed with the threat of treacherous tears. Every observation felt like a sound strike across the face. "Stop. You have _no_ idea. _Stop_ , now."

"Then tell me that I am wrong. _An ant has no quarrel with a boot_ ," the agent quoted. "Interesting wording. _Boot_ \- something to be worn. Object. Non-sentient. Hence no malice behind it. And all those hints, the _warm light for all mankind_ , the grandstanding- it was almost _deliberate_. You make a lot of careless mistakes for someone so intelligent-"

" _Stop!_ "

Silence fell over the chamber.

" _Tell me_."

The agent slid smoothly to sit in front of the cell, legs tucked by her side and her hands wrapped around her ankles.

"I _will_ listen. You have my word."

He glared past her shoulder. She sighed at his silence.

"Loki. _Please_. Look at me."

And he did, unable to resist the sound of his name on her tongue, cutting to bone.

She was unmoving, waiting for his eyes to meet with hers, somewhere between iron and silver.

"We could always make a trade," she offered, her breath misting across the glass in a smudge of opaque white before evaporating. "I tell you my story, in exchange for yours. But I warn you," she added with a self-deprecating humour, "it's horribly cliché."

Loki vaguely wondered if, when the mindless mountain of green muscle had pounded him into the slate floor, he had punched through and splintered his sternum. It would certainly account for the grinding, brittle pain in his chest.

He knew that he shouldn't care. There was no reason for him to. It was, by all logic, _impossible_ that she was- but _still_ -

" _Agent Fahrenheit?_ "

The agent shot to her feet with impressive speed, one hand leaping up to the device nestled in the shell of her ear.

"Yes?" She said, only slightly flustered and recovering quickly. "Yes- Dr Banner, hello."

" _Just wanted to update you on the situation up here,_ " a soft-spoken masculine voice hummed out of the earpiece; a rustle of clothing could have drowned it out. " _How are you- in there?_ "

Her jaw worked soundlessly for a moment, searching for a response without having to force an unconvincing lie.

"As well as can be expected, Doctor."

" _Huh. I, uh, I thought so. Well, you'll be glad to know that Tony drew up the final design specs for the device based on our calculations. We should be done by tomorrow afternoon, maybe earlier if we work through the night- though it really depends on how fast we can get the parts. And this_ is _Tony Stark, so, you know, our chances are fairly good._ "

"Don't overwork yourselves for my sake," the agent said swiftly. "Just make sure that it works. I'm sure that Thor wouldn't mind indulging in Midgardian culture a little while longer."

Loki's stomach automatically roiled at the sound of his brother's name in her mouth, where his own had been less than minutes before.

" _It's not Thor that I'm worried about,_ " Banner replied. " _He hasn't-_ tried _anything, has he?_ "

"Your concern is considerate, Doctor," the agent answered with the hint of warmth, "and appreciated. I can promise you that he is nothing that I cannot handle."

There was a short pause through the connection.

" _Okay. You're the expert on this, I guess. Anyway, Agent Romanoff- Natasha- she said not to hesitate to call up if something- I don't know-_ weird _starts happening. She told me to say_ hi _for her, by the way. Also says that you have a session for Apollo scheduled once this is all over with, whatever that means._ "

"I haven't forgotten. Thank you, Dr Banner."

" _No problem. I'll try to keep you updated if I can-_ "

" _Hey, Banner, you flirting with Hot Stuff when you should be on the job? I am_ shocked _, doctor, shocked and filled with overwhelming appro-_ "

" _Goodbye, Agent Fahrenheit,_ " Banner cut Stark off, and the connection was severed.

Her hand dropped, having over the course of the conversation wandered back into the safe distance from his containment chamber, facing away from him.

"I know what you're thinking," she mentioned offhandedly.

"Oh? Are you telepathic as well as a lie detector made flesh?"

"I wasn't reading your mind," the agent said serenely, "I was reading you."

Loki felt something in his chest contract.

"We'll be here for a while," the agent added, returning to her leather chair and climbing back into it, turning it to face away from him. "Twenty-four hours, at least. I'm not going anywhere, and neither are you."

Loki barely had time to muse the meaning of her latter comment. "What of it?"

He thought he might have heard the echo of bland amusement in her voice.

"I gave you my word."

* * *

It seemed an eon before he found his voice again.

"Where did you grow up?"

Loki's tone was soft despite the hollow echo of the chamber, the question rebounding off the steel with the slightest resonance. Her fingers were working away at her braid, unravelling each tress carefully from the tight weave, every coil of soft blonde hair that she combed out still damp against her fingers.

"England," she finally said, quietly. "I- grew up in England."

"England." Loki echoed. "A beautiful country."

"It is."

There was something in her voice that might have been fondness, if it wasn't so empty.

"Why did you ask me why my eyes are green?"

The agent hesitated, fingers pausing in her curls.

"I don't know."

Loki almost smiled. "You are a terrible liar."

Her hand dropped to the arm of her chair, and Loki heard a scuff of leather, softened against rustling hair, as her head fell against the backrest.

"Fine," she said expressionlessly. "It was because- most people- SHIELD- they aren't concerning themselves with _why_."

"And you want to know why," he stated, but it felt more like a question.

"I want to know if there _is_ a reason why."

"Morbid curiosity?" Loki enquired lightly.

"Maybe," she said truthfully, one finger tracing the seams of the leather idly. "Maybe not. Talking to you is- you're beyond eloquent-"

"You flatter me."

"Every word that comes out of your mouth is carefully chosen, steering somewhere then making a hairpin turn when we get too close. As much as you don't want me to ask, you want me to ask." She hesitated. "And I want to ask. I want to know the truth."

"And if you are wrong?" He asked, swift as a sword-stroke. "What if you do not like the answers that you find? If I told you everything that you could ever desire to know- what I was, what lay underneath, the secrets you seek- what would you do? When you saw the true depths of the abyss, would you turn your back upon me? Flee? _Hide_?" Loki gave a jagged, hateful laugh. "I wonder if you would think me dangerous- if you would fear me _then_."

To Loki's utter bemusement, the agent seemed completely unaffected.

"There is blood beneath every layer of skin. That doesn't frighten me. And- there is no way to know until it is too late to change my mind. I could be wrong, but I don't think we would even be talking unless you wanted someone to hear it." The agent halted, voice soft but unyielding when she spoke again. "You will just have to _trust_ me, Loki."

 _Trust_. A simple, absurdly fragile little thing. People lied constantly, without even thinking.

The word worked its way into him like a needle, settling into his mind.

 _Trust._

 _Trust me_ , he remembered whispering, hands warmed by another's flesh, his throat closing. _Trust me._

"I never intended to survive the fall."

It was like the first plunge into deep water, the first crack in ancient stone, the first glimpse of light breaking into darkness after a long slumber. It was small and irreversible, yet all Loki could feel was a dull flicker of _relief_ , shrouded with an engulfing wave of despairing regret.

Even if she didn't understand, he had to tell her. He wanted her to know- _her_ , of all people, if no one, he wanted to know the truth.

Without hesitation, the agent rose from her seat and crossed the room, settling directly in front of his cell with legs crossed like a child, knees and the fingertips of her left hand brushing the surface of the glass. He recognised the significance of the gesture, the crossing of an invisible battle line into neutral territory. _Meet me halfway,_ it demanded and pleaded. Her hair was loose in waves around her shoulders, her hazel eyes solemn and patient, warm as embers.

Pain crashed over him.

"When I-"

 _\- was thrown off the Bifrost by my brother-_

He balked.

 _No_. That was wrong. It did not belong to him, and it did not belong in his head.

Someone else had put it there.

Loki suddenly remembered Thor reaching for him, his face contorted with torment, face and hair and armour lit by a wash of hundred different intermingling colours emanating from the shattered crystal of the bridge, and the distant flickers of stars and galaxies.

 _That_ was real; he could _feel_ it.

"When I fell from the Bifrost," Loki amended, "no one expected my survival, myself least of all." He paused. "I will assume that Thor informed you of the details."

"I know enough." The agent said neutrally. "A little about the incident in New Mexico- how he was banished there- your attack on Jötunheim. But I'm not asking _him_. I'm asking _you_."

Loki gave a wry but satisfied smile.

"Very well. I find it unlikely that Thor told you he is and always was favoured above all others on Asgard, to the point of blind adoration."

He sighed silently, feeling as though the story had been told countless times and its weft worn thin by the stress.

"From birth they called him the _Golden Prince_ ; he fits their expectations of heir to the throne to an _atom_. The endless singing of his praises, the feasts held in his honour, constantly escaping the consequences of his quick temper and sheer thoughtlessness- it fed his ego, year by year, until he thought of little else but playing at war and his own _greatness_. When Odin declared that he was to become king, I knew that he was not ready. Thor needed more time- he was still but a spoiled child, arrogant, selfish and indulged, ignorant of the harm his actions could cause. As good as his heart may have been, he could only bring ruin upon the realm with his lust for war."

Loki paused, his jaw working. "I had no other choice. Odin would never listen to me, so I was forced to take drastic measures. The day that the coronation was to take place, I opened a temporary portal and let a company of Jötuns into the Asgardian Palace- only three; a small insurgence, enough to cause a little chaos, but not enough to spark genuine concern- the Destroyer should have taken care of them before they took more than a few steps into the vault- and Odin was bound to overlook smaller acts of aggression in order to keep the treaty intact. Asgard may have crushed Jötunheim before, crippled Laufey's power, but the realm would be a threat if they decided to take up arms again. But, I know Thor, better than he knows himself. I knew how he would react. I knew that his pride would be wounded with his _day of glory_ in ruins. I knew that he would be reckless enough to travel to Jötunheim even against the Allfather's order, convincing himself and others that it would be but a diplomatic quest for answers from Laufey."

Loki wavered, his eyes meeting those of the young woman on the other side of the glass, and continued, his smooth cadence cracking.

"Before we left, I told a guard to inform Odin of our intentions," Loki told her, hasty and earnest, the truth chipping through in a way he would have rather died than let anyone else see. "I never believed that we would ever reach Jötunheim. Or, if we somehow did, I thought that I and the weight of his title would be enough keep Thor from acting too rashly. I almost persuaded him to leave without bloodshed- we would have all been safe- but one foolish, meaningless comment from a Jötun and Thor took it as sanction to begin breaking skulls. By the time Odin arrived, the peace treaty was less _broken_ and more shattered beyond repair- and when we returned to Asgard- I tried to speak on Thor's behalf, to soften his punishment, but Odin would not listen, would not even let me _speak_ \- I never thought that Thor would be _banished_ \- I only wanted to prove that he was unready for the throne-"

"You thought you were protecting your home, and things got out of control," the agent said quietly. "I think I can understand that."

He let out a breath he hadn't been aware that he was holding.

Her fingers toyed with the hem of her jeans absently, coils of tarnished blonde hair spilling over her shoulders. She had a strange look in her eyes.

"There's more, though. More to what happened."

Loki hesitated, and nodded curtly.

The agent bit her lip.

"You don't have to tell me-"

"Yes, I do," Loki said sharply.

The agent only gazed back at him, and nodded mutely, leaning forwards on her elbows and twining her fingers together across her mouth.

"We fought, in Jötunheim," Loki began haltingly. "One of our companions warned us that if the Jötuns touched bare flesh, it would burn us- severe frostbite, from the temperature of their skin. I was battling a Jötun, and it grasped my arm. My mail shattered. But instead of burning, necrotising, my skin, it- turned _blue_." The admission caught in his throat, remembering the horror and confusion and a hint of sickening dread that had taken hold of him, surrounded by the clash of steel on ice. "Blue as the Jötuns' own. After Thor was banished, I confronted Odin in the vault. He could not deny it, not when I laid the evidence of his lie at his feet, and so after centuries of deceit I finally learned the truth. I was- _am_ \- the unwanted runt of King Laufey, discovered and taken by Odin from the last battlefield, for the purpose of ensuring lasting peace between Jötunheim and Asgard. From that day, I was raised with the singular objective of usurping Laufey, of taking his wretched throne when Odin deemed the time right, destined to be cast aside and condemned to rule a realm I had no knowledge or love of, whose people would no doubt despise me in return. And I realised," Loki said bitterly, "at long last why Odin had always loved Thor more than I. Because I am not _his son_. I was born an enemy of Asgard. A monster."

For a fragment of a second, the agent's expression changed startlingly into something that, for a moment, Loki thought might have been disappointment or revulsion- but then he saw her hazel eyes brimming with a gleam, her lashes fluttering rapidly to hold it back.

Loki smiled flatly, wondering what she was thinking- if she pitied him, and whether that was worse than revulsion.

"Before more could be said, he fell into the Odinsleep- a coma-like state that restores his strength," Loki elaborated for the agent's benefit. "He must have been delaying it for a while. With Odin indisposed, my mother gave me Gungnir- with it, she handed me the duties of state and the full powers of the King of Asgard. She had always reigned as queen regent during such times, and very capably so. But, with Thor banished- perhaps she thought to assure me of her love for me after I discovered their lie. I know not. My concerns were elsewhere."

"Jötunheim," the agent guessed in a murmur against her fingers.

"It seemed only sensible to destroy it," Loki said apathetically. "There was nothing else to be done. Odin had himself stated that his plans for me no longer mattered, and it was true. I had slain my _kin_ ," Loki forced the word out with pure hatred. "They would never accept me as their king. And Laufey had begun to lust for war once more, set upon revenge. He had to be stopped. It was surprisingly easy; all I had to do was offer to him exactly what he wanted most. King Laufey was more than willing to slither into the palace and slay Odin while he was at his most helpless if I only agreed to open the way. I think I truly had him convinced of our alliance- right up until the moment before I killed him. I dispatched him and his guards before they could do any harm to Odin or my mother, and used the assassination attempt as warrant to launch an attack on Jötunheim. Opening the Bifrost and leaving it so would unleash its full power and obliterate the realm completely- protecting the realm without spilling even a single drop of Asgardian blood. It was simple, really. An elegant solution."

The agent gave a sound that might have been a humourless laugh, shifting with some pained realisation, strangely lacking in anger.

"Elegant. Yes, I suppose it was, in its- twisted, genocidal way."

Loki sighed histrionically. "Thor always did manage to ruin my finest plans."

"I take it you had no qualms about slaughtering an entire world."

"Would _you_ weep for the extinction of a race of monsters?" Loki asked coldly. "Neither would any on Asgard. Perhaps my reason was manufactured, but the motivation was real enough. They needed to die."

"To protect Asgard," she stated on his behalf. "To protect your home, your family, your people. The things you loved most."

"Would you not do the same, if the things you cared for most were threatened?" Loki said, but was startled by the lurch of doubt he felt as he heard his own question.

 _Who could refrain, that had a heart to love-_

"And the throne?"

Loki heard her question, but it took several moments for him to reply and admit that he had no idea what she was talking about.

"The what?"

"The _throne_. The throne of Asgard."

Loki bit down on his tongue, but his silence was as good as any verbal reply.

The agent sounded almost endearingly bewildered, shoulders dropping.

"That's not what you wanted."

Any other time, Loki might have laughed at her naivety, but for the fact that it was the truth and she _knew_ it.

"If I had only wanted the throne, darling," he said, tasting blood, "I could have just let Laufey kill Odin and _then_ reduced him to a dusting of radioactive ions, could I not? Then the crown would be mine."

"Then why didn't you?"

Loki twitched his head to the side, refusing to look at her, and said nothing. He could feel her gaze, seeking every tense muscle and the angle at which he held himself and interpreting it like a language she knew by heart.

"Because you were still his son," the agent said quietly, raw with the realisation. Loki closed his eyes and bit down on his tongue again. "Still _Odinson_. Still Prince of Asgard. Not a-" she faltered, as though the word was choking her, " _monster_. Everything you were doing, it was out of love- proving your loyalty to them- the destruction, ending a war before it even began, even manipulating Thor-"

"Ah, yes. Speaking of my _big brother_ ," Loki interrupted with a stab of resentment, sinking into him like the bite of a cobra. "Thor, the Golden Son, humble and noble and _perfect_ because he spent three days on Midgard with the body of a mortal and learned what it was to be weak- come to ruin everything. Then again, I suppose I ought to thank him. I had no place on Asgard, Odin made that painfully clear. I had outlived my usefulness to him. So there was no reason to stay."

"So you-" She hesitated. _Let go,_ Loki supplied internally, still feeling Gungnir slipping from his palm as his grip calmly loosened, all the world frozen unfeeling and empty and unreal around him, _I let go,_ "left."

Loki canted his head to one side and smirked. " _Left._ Yes."

"You dropped into dead space," the agent added weakly. "How are you not _dead_?"

" _Almost_ -dead space, not _completely_ -dead space," Loki corrected her carelessly, "a small yet crucial difference. Not only is my physiology more resistant to such conditions, I was quickly pulled into the Yggdrasil complex- I believe Midgardian researchers refer to the portals theoretically as _wormholes_ , or Einstein-Rosen bridges. Well, no matter the semantics, lack of oxygen or pressure was not a problem for long."

"Why do I get the feeling that it was not the last one?"

"Clever girl," he murmured, smirking faintly. "The Bifrost is more than an interstellar portal access point. The energy that it draws upon and amplifies through the bridge itself both powers it, and acts as a shield for those travelling. Such an experience would otherwise be- _unpleasant_ ," Loki stressed delicately, "without it."

She bit down in her thumbnail.

" _How_ unpleasant?"

Loki wavered.

 _You wanted her to know the truth,_ a calm voice inside his head prodded at him, sounding annoyingly like his mother, _now_ tell _her._

"There was a battle in every breath. _Thought_ was painful. Time was immaterial. The sights were- incomprehensible." Loki let his gaze drop, absently tracing the palm of one hand with his thumb. "The fall- it seemed to last an age. Finally, from out of the void, I was netted on a small cluster of asteroids in Chitauri space. I would rather I was left to drift indefinitely."

His gaze flashed up to hers, piercingly intense.

"They call him _the_ _Mad Titan_. He slaughtered the entire population of his planet, and has done the same to many more. It was into his custody that I fell."

"The _Mad Titan_ ," she echoed, nails unconsciously digging into the fabric of her jeans. "Thor mentioned something odd about where you has sourced everything- this Mad Titan, was it him who gave you that army? The sceptre?"

 _Gave?_ Loki wanted to scoff.

"It has a strange effect on those in close and prolonged proximity," was all he said in reply.

"I noticed," she muttered, tensing. _Good,_ Loki thought dully, _she is wary of it._ "Barely a few minutes in the same room with it, and they were at one another's throats. Dr Banner picked it up and didn't realise until the others told him to put it down. I don't pretend to know how it works, precisely, but I hate to think what it could do if someone was around it for-"

The agent froze.

Loki smiled flatly.

"Have you found the answer you were looking for, _hækkaði_?"

It was the snapping of a thread, the metallic click of a lock releasing, the drop that broke a dam. It was too late, far too late to turn back now, but Loki no longer wanted to.

" _Your eyes_ ," she breathed, realisation flaring behind her eyes. She unfolded herself until she almost had her right shoulder pressed to the glass, her legs tucked to one side, hands splayed on the floor to hold her steady. " _Blue_. The sceptre- it _was_ influencing _you_ \- the Mad Titan, he-?"

"I never realised how torturous heat can be for a frost giant until they weaponised it against me," Loki mused, carefully masking the revulsion he felt at the way his voice faltered. _Weak,_ the Other hissed from his memories, his fingerprints on the inside of Loki's mind, lingering where he had pulled him apart and stripped him open and laid him bare, rifling through everything he was and leaving him desperately trying to scrape out the contamination left behind, _little Asgardian princeling, traitor, unwanted, creature of ice and hate- you will break and you will_ burn _._ "They wanted to know about Asgard, at first, particulars that only one at the heart of the royal household would know: defences, weaknesses, where relics were secured and how the vaults were protected and what weapons protected the palace and the realm at large. They dug deep- I had spent centuries shielding my mind, building walls to protect it from invasion, and they would not force me to talk. But _this_ -"

Loki halted, repressing a shudder so seamlessly that he almost fooled himself, until he caught a glimpse of the agent's expression- as though she had seen his memories condensed and painted in blood and saltwater on his skin.

"I realised that they would never relent. That I had to find a way out. I realised that, although I was in possession of information that the Mad Titan sought, I could offer him something that he coveted infinitely more ardently. I proposed an alliance, and agreed to cooperate under certain conditions. He wanted the Tesseract, badly enough that I persuaded him to release me and risk something that he valued as highly in order to gain it. He gambled the sceptre to gain the Tesseract. And as you can see- he lost both." Loki concluded with the shadow of a smirk. It was the first time that he was able to enjoy the victory against the warlord, away from the sceptre and the haze it cast over his moods. It had amplified the knots of chaos and pain inside of him, calcified it into pure hate, made him feel erratic and malcontent and uncomfortable in his own skin, and he had watched from behind a veil as he lashed out and gouged at a realm he had once been oddly fond of, desperate to feel real again.

"You planned to lose all along," the agent murmured, stunned.

"I won't exaggerate. I was hardly confident that it would actually _work_ ," Loki admitted, brows contracting. "The Mad Titan was thorough in ensuring my obedience. My memories were warped by the one they called the Other. With the sceptre so close I could feel little else but hatred, and a gnawing lust for vengeance and the destruction of everything that stood in my way. I became their weapon to wield. But there was a part of me that I did not let them control. I kept enough of my own will to design an attack that I alone knew was doomed to fail."

"I was right," she said numbly, "It _was_ all deliberate- the _mistakes_ were you giving them openings-"

"Of course. Even so, no one caught up as quickly as I intended. The _best-laid plans_ , as they say," Loki shrugged, elegantly, "but it was irritating to think that even _Thor_ had not realised I am a better tactician than this. The plan was an insult to warfare strategy. True, my arrival was unavoidably _unsubtle_. But with my talents and knowledge of the realm I could have easily escaped and remained hidden while I formed an army covertly, first from mercenaries, using them to acquire assets and weaponry before disposing of them. You can never trust soldiers that have no reason to remain loyal other than something as common as money. With sufficient weapons and minimal effort, I could then launch simultaneous strikes at lynchpin locations worldwide with such speed and precision that it would leave any defence or counter attack ineffective. It would have won me a complete victory- or I could have at _least_ destroyed the fourth turbine on the Helicarrier. Not crippling the vanguard of my main opponent when you have the chance is foolhardy at best, strategically suicidal to a victory at worst."

The agent raked her teeth along her lower lip.

"Okay, I definitely believe that you could have made it very difficult for us to stop you. Question."

"Ask."

"You said that no one figured out your plans as fast as you wanted. So- with this plan, and all of the ways you could have been stopped- how soon did you expect to be caught? How much collateral damage did you think you were going to cause before you were caught? Truthfully?"

 _Truthfully._ That was something Loki had not heard requested of him for a long time. _No one trusts a lie-smith to speak the truth. Not even himself._

"Expectation and reality are rarely the same." Loki prevaricated with a bland smile.

"That's not an answer."

He sighed, cool air reaching deep into his lungs, and he relented.

"I don't suppose that you'll believe me, if I tell you that I have always liked this realm. I came here and saw it for what it truly was- quiet, unseen, unrefined potential, like veins of precious metal running through rock. My plan only worked," he said, with a faint current of pride, "because it was Midgard that I chose."

"But the Titan wanted the Tesseract-"

"He did. And how exactly do you think he knew that it was here?"

The agent blinked. " _You_. How did _you_ know-?"

"As I told you yesterday, I know this realm and its secrets better than most who reside here."

"But- _they_ don't," she continued, following the thread he had tugged out for her and unravelling it quickly. "They didn't know about the Avengers Initiative- or SHIELD- how could they? So you _knew_ he would underestimate Earth, and let you go forward with a plan that only you knew would fail."

"Even Asgard, whose protection it is under as part of the Nine Realms, dismisses Midgard as powerless and primitive. A non-threat," Loki explained. "I know better. In the past decades it has rapidly accelerated in all areas of technology. None expected it so soon, so none troubled themselves to look. I expect they will be thinking otherwise now."

"Wait, wait-" The agent straightened abruptly. "You're seriously telling me that you visited _and_ liked this place… and yet you never heard of _Shakespeare_?"

Both of them were silent for a moment.

Then Loki suddenly found himself laughing.

It took him a moment to realise that the agent was laughing too, muffling the sound with her fingers, bittersweet and her expression almost pained.

The agent unfolded herself, and stood shakily, a hand pressed to her stomach, the other braced against the glass. "Alright," she said tightly, "just- let me just see if I have this right, because I want to be entirely sure that I'm following you." She took a deep breath. "Everything you did on Asgard was intended to protect it, you nearly committed genocide in the name of keeping your world safe, you never wanted the throne, you were tortured by a homicidal maniac from outer space who has murdered the population of entire planets, were forced by sceptre that drives you insane to come here and attack Earth for the Tesseract-"

" _Coerced_ ," Loki corrected her sharply, "not _forced_."

She looked up, her fingers lacing behind her neck like a yoke, buried in the curtain of her blonde curls. "There's a difference?"

" _Forced_ implies that that my actions were solely their will, and in no part my own," Loki explained succinctly. "That I was unaware of my actions or not in control. _Coerced_ means that I was used as a means to an end. I was aware of it, every second. I knew what I was doing. I _enjoyed_ it," he forced himself to admit. "I saw fire and blood and destruction. I knew that I was the one who had brought it here, and it was _satisfying_."

"Until Thor confronted you on the tower," she pointed out, eyebrows sharpening into a shallow frown. "Until, for a second, he pulled you back, made you look and _think_ for yourself. Considering how you looked like you were about to collapse when you came out of that portal- don't deny it, I saw the footage, it was like you were suffering heatstroke, which I suppose you were- I would guess that you must have resisted whatever they were doing to you for a long time before you were _coerced_ into _anything_. And even then, you came up with a way to screw them over." She leaned into the glass, her eyes searing. "What you did here _cannot_ be excused. But whatever they did to you to drive you to it is _not your fault_."

Loki looked away, smiling bitterly. "You are very sweet, little dove."

"No, just honest. I can't help it. It's a curse." The agent turned away, pacing, raking her fingers through her hair, simmering with tension. " _God of Lies._ _This_ was your real lie."

"Are you impressed?"

" _Very_."

"That sound less sweet," Loki commented expressionlessly, registering the smudge of resentment contaminating her voice.

The agent laughed aloud. The sound was like ash.

"Do you have any idea," she said raggedly, "how much I wanted to _hate_ you?" She turned on him. "I was prepared to hate you, to hate the person I saw in Stuttgart. Hate you for everything you did, everything you tried to do."

Something welled up from behind her eyes like blood, as though he had sliced her open underneath.

"You have given me reason enough to hate you. I should. I _don't_."

Loki blinked.

"Why?"

Her shoulders dropped in a final defeat.

"You hate yourself enough."

Loki flinched. He should have denied it.

 _But you promised me long ago that you would never lie to me._

Loki, looking into her, pacing in front of him, unknowing, wondered if she had somehow managed to keep her promise even through the complete loss of herself.

"All this time- you were a lesser evil sending us a warning. You weren't supposed to be-" The agent trailed off helplessly, gesticulating desperately in his direction, as though the motion explained what she couldn't articulate. "I only wanted to understand- to find some _twisted_ logic so that I could despise you, but-"

"I am sorry to disappoint," Loki said wryly, half-serious.

She made a sound that he could only call twisted amusement mixed with unspent rage.

"It would have been- simpler," she forced out. " _Easier_ , maybe."

"It has been proven that I play the remorseless villain convincingly. I could try again, if you like," Loki offered, unsure whether he meant it or not. He was used to living out lies; one more, for her sake, would hardly be an effort.

"I would know," she pointed out with a weak laugh. " _Living lie-detector_ , remember?"

Loki surrendered a yielding smile in return.

"So, then? What happens now? Now that you have the truth from me? What will you do?"

The agent halted.

"I… did not think this far ahead," she eventually admitted.

Loki felt the corner of his mouth turn up. "I can wait."

"Really, would you?" She asked, distracted.

"Of course. Please, take your time."

"Thank you."

For a moment, she was perfectly still, her eyes distant.

Her shoulder dropped and something shifted behind her expression, as though a switch had been flipped.

"There is really only one thing I can do."

Loki straightened, confused as her eyes met his decisively.

"I am going to go upstairs and tell them everything that you just told me," she announced, leaning under the terminal to snag the pair of boots she had been wearing yesterday and her tablet, discarding the tangle of headphones still plugged into it, and turning for the door. "Please wait here. I might be a while."

She said it with such casual certainty- as though stating that the sun and moon both rose in the east and set in the west- that it took Loki a moment to realise what she intended.

"They will never believe you."

The words were crafted like a bullet, seeming to strike between her shoulder blades.

She turned on her heel towards him in a whirling swathe of blonde hair, already having vaulted the steps and standing on the brink of the raised platform above his cell.

"Yes they will. God of Lies or not, I know when someone is telling the truth, and they know that better than anyone. Anyway, I have proof-"

"What you have is circumstantial evidence, at best," Loki argued coolly, slipping on the seamless, impenetrable mask he had worn as Prince of Asgard during diplomatic meetings. "Falsified evidence, at worst. Is it so unbelievable that I might have deliberately tailored my behaviour and appearance as a contingency plot in the event of failure and capture? Or that I might be manipulating you, or controlling you through some enchantment?"

"But you're _not_ ," the agent shot back heatedly.

" _They_ cannot be sure of that. And they will not risk it. There is no point in going to them, sweetling; the only thing that can come of it is that you are likely to be placed in a cell of your own as a precaution."

"But you- but what about the Mad Titan?" She began anew, increasingly frustrated. "I have to at least warn-"

"If you do, and in the case of the pitifully slim chance that they believe you, Thor will charge in to face Thanos without a second thought and get himself killed, depriving the Nine Realms of a valuable defender," Loki said firmly. "Believe me now if you ever have: I have considered every possible course of action since first I was faced with him. Any interference or counter attack at this point will only speed up the Mad Titan's plans. He will not openly attack Asgard yet, nor any realm under its protection; he has other interests, assets he wishes to acquire. However, if the parts of his plans are kept scattered beyond his reach for long enough, he will inevitably show his hand- and by that point, the true threat of his presence will be known, and the galaxy better prepared to face him."

Loki could almost see the first crack appear in the agent's resolve as she took a hesitant step down the first stair, the other boot still hovering on the platform.

"But-! You being locked away in a cell on Asgard when no one knows what you- it's- it's-"

"Exactly what I planned," Loki finished for her. "This is the only way I can ever return to Asgard: in chains. Here or in the Realm Eternal, I am condemned. Regardless of why I did it, or even if it was delaying something far worse, justice will be demanded." He noticed her lashes fluttering furiously, fingers clenching until he thought that her tightening grip might splinter the screen of the tablet still in her hand, and realised that she was trying not to cry. "Oh, sweet girl, _no_. None of that. Don't waste tears on the architect of his own destruction."

"Then what am I supposed to _do_?!" She dropped her boots by the laces, only showing a modicum more care for the tablet as she stormed towards him. Her hazel eyes seemed to flash a sudden deep gold behind the screen of tears. "Am I supposed to take the truth and _bury_ it? Say _nothing_ while you play the monster to the hilt and are imprisoned- or executed- or-"

"I have accepted my fate, _hækkaði_." Loki interrupted, suddenly feeling calmer and clearer-headed than he had in what felt like an age."If Odin takes my head, I will welcome the swing of the axe. If I am for the dungeons, so be it. If exile, let him hurl me out into the void. I fear none of it."

The agent glared at him, her eyes welling up with tears, no longer making any effort to hide them.

"Even after _everything_?" She asked, so helplessly sympathetic that it hurt.

Loki smiled gently. "Yes. For _you_ know the truth."

"Why does _that_ matter? All I did-"

"Was ask the question no one else would, and chase the truth, and listen, and offer civility to an enemy who slaughtered innocents. Do you believe that counts for _nothing_?"

She didn't answer, mutely walking back to the glass, collapsing against it with a drained sigh and sliding back to her seat on the floor.

Loki watched her, his voice soft when he spoke. "For what it is worth, I am sorry. For- everything."

Her head dropped forwards, curls skimming her shoulders.

"Thank you. For telling me the truth," she managed. Her tone almost held a hint of humour. "Strangely, you are one of the few people who _has_."

"I do hate to be predictable," Loki replied lightly.

The agent gave an exhalation that could have been the ghost of a laugh.

"You have a lovely voice, you know. Do you sing at all?" Loki asked her, despite the fact that he already knew the answer better than he knew his own name.

She looked up, eyebrow hitched at the abrupt shifting of topics, knowing that it was a distraction yet a spark returning to her expression nonetheless. Her hand crept up to her collarbone, seeking out the fine chain of her necklace unconsciously, running it between her fingers.

"A little."

"Would you, perhaps, sing something for me?" He saw her hesitate, twisting the chain around her index finger as her teeth caught her lower lip. "Anything," he added encouragingly. "Anything you like."

"You're trying to distract me."

"Why, yes. Is it working?"

She gave an abashed half-laugh. "The only song I can think of right now is an old nursery rhyme. I suspect it would fall short of grand Asgardian ballads."

Loki raised a single eyebrow expectantly, and, interpreting the look correctly, her expression grew brighter with embarrassment. She swivelled to sit with her back propped against the glass, her head tilting back.

" _This_ is what I can do for you?"

" _Yes_ ," Loki susurrated, almost a plea.

She sighed, relaxing at long last, and opened her mouth.

" _Sing a song of sixpence, a pocket full of rye;  
Four and twenty blackbirds, baked in a pie  
When the pie was opened, the birds began to sing  
Wasn't that a lovely dish to set before a king?_"

 _Blackbirds beneath a pie-crust, breaking out in a great flutter of glossy feathers and flakes of golden pastry and song._ It sounded like some kind of harmless prank, a parlour trick that Loki might have conceived of and created a lifetime ago. Albeit he never would have set such a thing before Odin; the only way to ever catch his attention favourably or impress him had been through politics and strength of arms, and such a frivolous display would never appeal to him.

" _The king was in the count-house, counting out his money  
The queen was in the parlour, eating bread and honey-"_

His mother, on the other hand- he could easily see Queen Frigga draped in the soft nameless shades of gentle blue and forthright gold that were her colours, cautiously sinking the tip of a bejewelled knife into the cap of a pie at her younger son's direction, then laughing delightedly when two dozen birds burst from it in a flurry of tuneless twittering music.

" _The maid was in the garden, hanging up the clothes  
When down came a blackbird and pecked off her nose."_

The agent halted- and laughed, the sound watery compared to the simple yet enchanting tone of her singing voice. "There's an extra verse about someone sewing the maid's nose back on again, but I can never quite remember it."

Loki sighed soundlessly. " _Little songbird_ ," he uttered to himself without thinking.

"Don't call me _little_ ," she threw over her shoulder without bite.

"You _are_ little, sweetling," Loki retorted amiably.

"I will have you know that I am of average height, _thank you_. You're just- tall."

"Mm, not on Asgard-"

"Liar."

"I am _not_ , as you know perfectly well."

They were both smiling again, if only very faintly on her part, and it felt as though something had begun to heal between them- blood the colour of rusted iron shielding tender white scar tissue, damaged flesh knitting itself back together, fragile and tentative and raw.

The air felt different.

"I'm glad they sent you," Loki said before he could think better of it.

The agent rested her head on her arms, over her knees, almost wistful. "I can't believe I'm saying this- but the feeling is mutual. I'm- glad to be here. I'm glad it's me."

Loki's mouth opened before he could stop himself. "I wish-"

\- _that everything could just go back to the way it was, that none of this had ever happened, that I had been stronger, that I was not so proud and could have helped Thor to stop it all, that-_

"What?" The agent prompted gently, twisting to look at him.

Loki had never had many regrets. He had not allowed himself to- those he did feel overwhelmed him, and it currently felt as though he was resting the gravity of worlds on his shoulders.

"I wish that things could have been different."

She sighed, almost inaudibly. "So do I."

Loki hesitated for a heartbeat.

"Is it too late, do you think?"

It sounded like a child's question, chastised and ashamed, and his ingrained sense of pride bridled with sneering indignation.

She turned her head to look at him. "No. But it will be hard. Try," the agent suggested simply.

It was not quite a vote of confidence. But Loki could take it for approval, encouragement, even tinted with a blush of tentative, watchful support- a hand resting at his back, nudging him forwards.

"Will you sing me something else?" Loki asked her.

She averted her gaze.

"You'll probably hate most of what I know. Midgardian pop music- the lyrics are repetitive and make less sense than nursery rhymes."

"You might be surprised- perhaps I love Midgardian music." He paused. " _Please_."

It was one simple word- _please_ \- said without hesitation, gently warmed like whisky.

The agent- unable to hide the warmth rising underneath- obliged.

* * *

The hour grew late, the team arrived beyond the door, and Loki gently cajoled the agent to find sleep. That night, she made no threats, and he made no promises.

She fell asleep humming an Asgardian song under her breath- one that no Midgardian should know- and Loki spent the night with something salt-stained yet lighter than grief staving off the shadows in his head.


	3. III: Breathe

III. _Breathe_

"What do you know of Asgard?"

He heard her laughter at his back, soaking through him, as weightless as magic and music.

"Good morning to you too, Loki."

Loki turned, a small inexorable smile curving his mouth. The agent was wearing the uniform from the day before last- trousers, jacket, belt, gloves tucked through one of the loops at her hip, boots, all matte black and supple and efficient- her hair even braided the same way, walking with that familiar lilt. But the look that the agent had worn when she had spoken to him on that first day- distant as the first twilight stars appearing at dusk, or being washed away by dawn- was dwarfed by the hesitant flicker of warmth that became a bright flare when she caught sight of his expression.

 _Sunshine and steel, bone and blossoms, trust and uncertainty. Truth- radiant and ruthless._

She was carrying a polystyrene coffee cup - with, ridiculously, SHIELD's insignia pressed in white onto the ridged heat-proof grip; _that really is going too far_ , Loki thought with amused incredulity- which, if he had to guess, was probably a gift from the spider. The agent and the redhead seemed to be civil, at least, if not friends.

"Good morning, darling," Loki amended swiftly.

The endearment slipped past without comment, and the agent stepped up the hidden hatch in the column, depositing another slim book into it- paperback, with a weathered cover and fine white fractures in its spine from too many readings. For the first time, under the unforgiving lighting from his cell, Loki noticed the crescents of soft violet shadowing her eyes.

"You look tired," he added gently, his smile rueful.

Her replying reassuring laughter was a sunburst, reassuring and sharply real as pain. "I'm alright. I've endured worse. This is nothing, really. And I have access to coffee- Natasha sent this down for me," she lifted the cup indicatively as she turned to walk towards the terminal. "She makes a pretty good mocha for someone who avoids the stuff like the plague- terrified that she'll become reliant on it if she so much as inhales the fumes."

"Still," Loki demurred, "if you need to sleep, then I-"

"I don't _want_ to sleep," the agent said evenly, slipping into the seat behind the terminal, spinning it with a nudge of her heel to face him better; Loki echoed her motion, returning to the sole bench at the back of the cell, "I want to talk to you."

Loki stalled, blindsided by her answer- and gave an embarrassingly breathy laugh, the argument he had already half-constructed dissolving.

"Oh. Ah- alright-"

"Nat sent a note, with the coffee," she explained, suddenly finding the ridges on the grip of her cup fascinating. "Apparently the device should be operational by midday, so that leaves about six hours. I could probably beg the rest of the day off anyway, since the director won't want to bother sparing anyone to watch me. Locking me in my rooms and letting me catch up on sleep keeps me out of trouble without the effort."

Loki processed her answer, pulling it apart with deft, practiced skill.

"You are as much of a prisoner here as I am," he said after a few moments, shrewdly.

It was that agent's turn to pause in surprise. She recovered quickly, wrapping both hands around her coffee cup and crossing her ankles, strands of curling blonde hair falling into her eyes. Loki felt the abrupt urge to sweep them back behind her ear.

"It- could be worse," she said diplomatically. It was not a lie, not even close- he could tell, and that was a strange comfort as much as it was disturbing; Loki wondered if _worse_ could have potentially been the reality, and suddenly felt sick- but she wasn't voicing the entire truth either. "SHIELD is a decent enough organisation. And I've met good people here. People I might even call friends."

The implication sank in like poison, sickening him to his stomach.

His mouth felt heavy with lead, but he forced the words out.

"I killed someone that you cared for."

The agent said nothing. Loki gave a short jagged laugh, looking away.

"Of course I did. I killed many."

"Yes. You did. You were also not the only one making your decisions," the agent replied firmly, holding herself taut nonetheless, instinctively protecting herself. She bit her lip, concern crossing her eyes in a shadow. "Is _he_ out?"

The corner of Loki's mouth twitched upwards deprecatingly. "Yes. Banner kindly assisted with the- _extraction_ _process_. It is purely _me_ that you are talking to."

He didn't tell her that he could still hear the phantom whispers of the Other, blurring with his own voice.

 _I am in blood stepped so far that, should I wade no more, returning were as tedious as go o'er-_

 _Shut up,_ Loki snapped back internally.

"Good. I'm glad." Her posture had loosened slightly, but her troubled expression- like storm clouds obscuring the sun- remained.

"What is it?"

The agent hesitated.

"I-"

Loki watched, patient and curious, the progression of her mind's workings play out in echoes across her face, before settling with an unknown resolution.

"I wanted to ask you something," she said with slow deliberation. "But, it doesn't matter that much. Forget it."

Loki laughed quietly, exasperated. "After all that I have told you already? Darling, you can ask me anything you like."

She shook her head, decisively, straightening. "It doesn't matter."

"Evidently it _does_."

"It doesn't, and I _shouldn't_." The agent said obstinately, looking away. "It- it's better if I don't."

Loki's eyes narrowed, his intonation softer.

" _Ask._ "

She wavered, closing her eyes, struggling with something.

"You don't have to answer-"

"Just _ask_ me _._ If I do not wish to give you an answer, I will not give one."

She took in the sight of him- unwavering and gazing into her steadily- and drew in a bracing breath that felt like drawing a bowstring, taut and shivering and curving her spine.

"What was it like?"

Loki froze with sudden comprehension.

He glanced down. It was phrased ambiguously, making it so that all he had to do was ask her what she meant, and she could lie, badly, and he could lie seamlessly when he pretended to believe her-

"I'm sorry, you don't have to-"

" _Wires_ ," he interrupted her quietly, his thumb skimming the inside of his wrist absently. "Thin as a strand of hair, pressing into skin until it almost fuses with it. That is- a little of how it felt, at first. The more you resist, the more you try to escape, the tighter they seem and the deeper they cut- severing arteries and slicing and fraying tendon, grinding and sawing down to bone- and simply by struggling, by fighting back or by trying to raise defences, you let them in. You tell them in silence and screams what you fear, what you hate, what you love, teach them how to hurt you, how to carve deeper into you with each passing hour. And you notice only when it is too late because your mind was preoccupied with blocking out the physical pain- the fire and the blood and the echoes they leave behind, rattling around inside your head."

Loki breathed deeply, trying not to let himself mentally trace out the place where they had broken in, the void of the presence that had coiled inside him and feed off his thoughts like a parasite, still gaping open like a hole in his skull.

"When they have finally pried you open wide enough, they begin to take out pieces that they want," he continued, forcibly calm, like standing still as the rest of the world tore apart around him. "They keep your body weak and your mind constantly exhausted so that they are free to dismantle you from within. I started noticing how time seemed to run together into a blur, how I was second-guessing my own thoughts, wondering if they belonged to me."

He could feel her watching him, unmoving, and Loki awaited her reaction.

"How did you do it?" He heard her ask eventually, brokenly. "Through all of that, how did you stay _yourself_?"

Loki looked up, the ghost of his smile faded, more bitter than bittersweet- but it was an improvement, undeserved as it was.

"I locked a part of myself away," he explained, "built barriers in my mind around the things that I needed to protect- the things that I loved best- knowledge, memories, pieces of myself I could not bear to lose. I had no choice but to let myself forget that they ever existed- one slip was all it would take."

Loki faltered, a leaden weight settling over him, one that had been so easily pushed aside by blind wrath.

 _There is a storm inside your eyes,_ a memory whispered. _It is beautiful and it is terrifying. You are chaos- controlled chaos._

"It felt like a _betrayal_. To- to _forget_. To pretend as though it had never happened. To choose _that_."

"You _had_ to." Her voice was fracturing, primed to shatter. "That was brave."

"I was _weak_ ," Loki said with a harsh laugh. "I should have found another way-"

" _What_ other way?" The agent bit out. "Loki. You tricked a galactic warlord and saved this planet from destruction. You were _not_ weak."

Loki closed his eyes, and felt something slip down his cheek.

 _Blood_ , he thought to himself, _just blood from the wires._

"I am so sorry." Her voice was muffled into her knees, and perhaps by something else that was closing up her throat and gathering with a glitter at the corners of her lashes. "That you were- no one should ever have to- I can't imagine anything worse than that. Not being able to remember."

Something in Loki's chest constricted painfully.

"It was worse to have only the memories that they deigned to leave me with," he said. "And to have them warped- exaggerated- magnified." Loki opened his eyes, forcing the maelstrom of thoughts away. "The sceptre was their instrument more ways than one. They used it to communicate, keep their influence over me, locking me into a state of mind serviceable to their aims."

 _\- you will beg for something sweet as pain-_

"Was it the same for the others?" The agent asked, quiet but direct. "With the sceptre?"

"No," Loki said, truthfully. "What happened to me was- _vivisection_. Being taken apart, dissected, pieced back together until they found the order that pleased them best. What I did with the sceptre was different. It was more akin to hypnosis, I suppose," he mused. "I changed nothing about them in essence, only their allegiance. I made them suggestable, silencing anything that made them think of me as an enemy. Their previous motivations and moral objections were- brushed aside- in favour of the directives I gave. They remained entirely themselves otherwise, their sense of self intact, memories untouched. Which was why, underneath, they were still able to resist in small but effective ways."

"Clint aimed for the director's chest instead of taking the headshot," the agent surmised. "And Dr Selvig installed the backup method shutting the portal down- did you know?"

"Of course I did. It was quite clever," Loki admitted unreservedly. "Not a direct sabotage that would risk being noticed, but an opening nonetheless- one that seemed sensible, even logical, and could be easily overlooked."

"They were rebelling in every way possible, even without having full control of their actions." She arched an eyebrow. "That sounds familiar."

He managed a rueful smile in response.

"Their recollections of the past few days should be more coherent, at least, than mine." Loki paused, the muscles in his jaw fluttering. "I do not know whether that is mercy or not."

The agent bit the cap of her coffee cup.

"I think it is," she resolved pensively. "Not knowing- I can't help but think that would be worse. Having nothing but a blank whenever they think back, wondering what happened, imagining what could have, what they did or what was done to them- I think that would drive them insane."

"Ignorance is not bliss." Loki admitted flatly.

"Why didn't more resist it, though?" The agent suddenly asked. "The others? The agents who attacked the Helicarrier?"

"Because they did not want to," Loki replied simply, eyebrows lifting.

"But there were SHIELD-"

"Let us simply say that few of those I selected needed much _persuasion_ ," Loki said delicately, knowing that he was navigating them through potentially dangerous waters; if he told her too much, if she dug too deep when he was gone, Loki was all too aware of the wolves that would clamp their teeth around her throat to silence her if necessary. At the same time, he felt the need to forewarn her- _call it a small recompense_. "You said that you had friends here. Is this still true?"

The agent frowned slightly. "Yes."

"Then it would be advisable to keep in contact with them once you are released," Loki continued. "Empires can be felled so easily if you know where to look for weakness, _hækkaði_ , particularly those that are already divided from within. Chaos loves nothing more than a complacent peace, and great kingdoms have burned themselves to ash for pride, for misunderstandings… for the sake of a beautiful smile."

Her eyebrow arched. "Unless Helen of Troy is resurrected in the near future, I think SHIELD is safe."

The answer was teasing, but there was an undercurrent of something cautious that satisfied Loki that his warning had registered.

"I wouldn't be so sure," he said nonchalantly, canting his head to the side with a mischievous grin. "Try smiling at everyone you pass for a week- this institution should soon crumble."

The agent burst out laughing- not unlike that first time, when he had asked her name- listing to the side in her chair helplessly. " _Stop_ it!" She scolded without as much as a sting behind it, high colour threatening the bronze of her skin. Unlike in pale complexions, it was a subtle change rather than a splash of red- like metal being heated- and with the time to observe it, unlike the first time when she had whipped away from him, Loki was of the opinion that it was utterly _lovely_.

"I take that back, now that I think on it." Loki skimmed his lower lip with one fingertip. "I think that smile could end a war, not incite one."

She shifted and brought a hand up to her face, resting her mouth on the back of her fingers, caught somewhere between embarrassed and unmistakably flattered.

Loki realised too late that he was gazing at her intimately, his every thought probably bared whole and uncensored in his eyes- but abruptly the agent took a deep breath, as though casually swatting away the last remnants of tension and melancholy in the air, and leaned forwards.

"Tell me about Asgard."

Loki stared at her in surprise, his eyebrows tugging together questioningly.

"You asked before how much I know about it," she continued, thumbnails digging into the coffee cup's ridged grip, "Honestly, I barely know anything- just bits and pieces from the stories we have here, and there are so many different versions- and a few rumours thanks to things your brother said, but- anyway, it hardly seems fair that you know so much about this world and I know so little about yours- in fact, it verges on impolite-"

"Get me something to write with," Loki interrupted, amused and brimming with something that he refused to call affection, rising from the bench unhurriedly, "something that will work against _that_." He gestured at the translucent pane at the front of the walkway. "It will be easier," he added by way of explanation.

She didn't question him. The agent set her coffee aside, standing and quickly dropping down to a hovering kneel behind the terminal, dragging open the drawers underneath- ones that Loki hadn't known had existed until that very moment- with a hollow rattle.

"I can't guarantee anything," she admitted, rifling through the drawer's contents, "almost everything's digital around here- it's _horrible_ -" Loki laughed aloud, tinged with sympathy, at how despondent she sounded, "you should have seen the looks I got when I was carrying around an _actual book made of paper,_ instead of a Kindle or whatever- or when I asked for a notepad and pen- I might as well have been asking for a handful of gold. I think I saw Hill with a few paper documents for the director to sign maybe _once_ , and- _oh_!"

The agent popped back up into his vision with a pleased grin and a clear plastic pack, containing what looked like whiteboard pens of an array of basic colours- three in black, dark royal blue, toxic green and garish red each.

"Aha. _A handful of gold_ ," Loki teased.

She actually _giggled_ in reply- a startlingly carefree, _girlish_ sound- only compounded by sight of strands of blonde pulling loose to soften her face and her wild smile; they could have just as easily been whisked out of place by a brisk spring breeze on an impulsive jaunt by the waterside.

Loki wondered, with a twinge of regret, as she walked over to her side of the compartment hatch in the pillar with an oblivious lilt in her step, when she had last felt a breeze on her skin that hadn't belonged to air-conditioners' rotors. _A while_ , as she had vaguely put it on that first day, could constitute anything from a matter of weeks- overly optimistic- to full years- painfully plausible- spent in SHIELD's custody. Or, worse- perhaps she had felt the wind since, but only under strict guard from the landing strip surface of the Helicarrier, a heavy breathing mask strapped to her mouth and crowding her vision when they were airborne.

He dragged himself away from the thought, and opened the hatch. The book she had placed in there earlier was still inside where she had left it, the pens leaning against its cover, dilapidated corners curling; Loki pulled that out first, curious at its lightness and wornness compared to the sleek beauty of the previous two- both loved and thoroughly read, but high quality and painstakingly preserved.

Loki flipped it easily in his palm, reading the title.

" _To Kill A Mockingbird_." He read, without recognition. Eyes the colour of serpentine stone flicked up questioningly to the agent, who was watching him with her head cocked on one side, as though measuring his reaction.

"A classic. A story of justice, unexpected kindness- and prejudice. One of my favourites. You might like it."

Loki's eyes narrowed marginally for a second, sensing that there was something important that he was missing, but said nothing. Setting the tattered book aside atop the others neatly stacked on the bench, he retrieved the pens and extracted one with a black cap, tossing the rest at his feet as he approached the smooth concave curve of the front-most panel.

"So, then. Asgard."

"Asgard," she echoed, taking a step closer, hands laced at the small of her back.

Loki walked the pen between his fingers, spinning it over and over. It was thicker than the pens he usually used, the motion made clumsier. "I hardly know where to begin. How do you go about describing an entire world?"

"I wouldn't know- I've honestly never tried," the agent replied, almost cheerfully. "But, personally, basic geography feels like a good start."

His mind flashed with images of the geometrically breathtaking crystal strata jutting underneath the realm, swirling with stardust and water vapour- glimpses of shadowed close forest, narrow openings in rock faces in the mountain, passages behind the thundering veils of great waterfalls, corners of grey-stone citadel alleys that hid spots humming with secret magic- the niches at the topmost spire of the palace, only accessible to those with wings or intimate knowledge of the many concealed passageways, staircases and trick entrances within, one of the only places that soared above all the gold and carved stone into air that was free and clear and devoid of the cloying scents of wine and fruit and cultivated flower.

Loki had always liked the secret parts of Asgard best.

"Some call it the Realm Eternal," he said, somewhat distantly, "which, in retrospect, is absurd. Nothing lasts forever."

There was a smile in the agent's tone.

"Stories do."

Loki's mouth chased the shadow of a hazy smile, and he shook his head clear. "Let me try again." Uncapping the pen, he tested the nib against the thick glass, and was pleased when it left a clear dark dash of new fresh ink in its wake. "I suppose I should teach you about Yggdrasil first," Loki contemplated aloud, swiping the pad of his middle finger across the ink; it wiped away clean, leaving a crescent smudge of stippled black on his skin.

"The _World Tree_?" The agent moved to stand directly opposite him, a few feet away from the glass; she had retrieved her coffee, and was silenced for a few seconds by a liberal swig of probably cold mocha. "Please do not tell me that we are talking about a _literal_ tree. That would kind of break this plane of reality for me- and honestly, the existence of alien princes who helped inspire tales of pagan gods sort of did that already."

Loki chuckled at the nearly deadpan plea.

"The concept of a mythical yew tree whose roots connect the realms is a simplified, fairytale version of a complex truth, told to Midgardian progenitors and young Asgardians alike," he explained calmly, lifting the pen to the curved pane, intending to write the word _Asgard_ to one side. Loki had finished the _A_ in two fluid motions before realising that it would appear backwards to the agent. After a brief moment, he switched hands and continued writing the word smoothly, in a near faultless mirror image to his neat, sharp yet looping hand.

He drew several dashes coming off the word _Asgard_ \- eight in total- each pointing to a name that he could have recited in his sleep. _Vanaheim, Alfheim, Nidarvellir, Niflheim, Jötunhe_ -

"The _roots_ of the Yggdrasil complex are more akin to a complex of _tunnels_ ; said _tunnels_ are, in truth, _gateways_ \- portals, wormholes, bridges across space, whatever you prefer to call them- and the Bifrost makes use of them, providing stable access to the realms beyond each gateway."

"But- I thought that the Bifrost _was_ the gateway."

"It is, in a sense." Loki halted, quickly constructing an appropriate analogy. "Think of the Bifrost as a- terminal of sorts. A port. It provides access to the method of travel-"

"Oh- but it's not the method of travel itself," the agent concluded, catching onto his meaning as he continued writing out the names, finishing _Muspelheim_ with a flourish. "Alright. I _think_ I understand- the Yggdrasil complex of portals surround Asgard, meaning that it has access due to the Bifrost to the eight other realms- which essentially makes Asgard the head of the Nine, as it is the only one that has the means to connect them all. _Might equals right._ Is that- more or less it?"

"Mm, well done, sweetling. Asgard has long since been considered a sentinel for peace, in part because of the strength of its army, and in part because of the Yggdrasil complex and the Bifrost. There are other gateways, in the Nine Realms and further afield, but none so many so close together that a single device can utilise them. Not to mention that most of them are hideously unstable." He smirked. "There are ways to cross through, of course- for the willing, the knowledgeable and the patient."

The agent's eyes were suddenly dancing. "Then- there are _more_ planets that support life? More species? More civilisations?"

Loki's gaze never left hers, wanting to see the spark. "So many more," he promised her, and was not disappointed; her irises immediately blazed. "You, my darling, would _adore_ Knowhere."

" _Knowhere_ ," she echoed, fascinated, "what-"

"We have time for that later," Loki cut her off gracefully, softening her disappointment with a smile and swiping the demonstrative diagram of the Nine Realms away, deciding to show her the exact configuration of the portals later. "But first, I believe you did ask about Asgard."

The agent glared at him without any real fire, drained her coffee and set the cup aside, before straightening and leaning against the glass upon laced fingers, her eyes visible above them as her mouth rested on her knuckles.

Loki, watching her, felt lightheaded- _too happy_.

"You should hate me," he said. The words came out with startling precision.

"Should I?" The agent asked nonchalantly, barely moving from her new position, as though Loki had commented somewhat sarcastically on the weather.

"Only a fool would not."

"Told you so," she reminded him neatly.

Loki made himself a mental note to slice out Fury's functioning eye if he ever dared imply in his presence that the young woman was anything less than brilliant, in every aspect.

"What would you like to know first, darling?"

The agent's gaze flicked up to him.

"How about we start from the outside," she suggested, "and work our way in."

Loki began sketching out the borders of Asgard against the glass. "That," he replied softly, "is a splendid idea."

* * *

Loki watched her trace the lines of one of many of sketches that covered the inside of thick glass from ceiling to floor, riddled with neat notes in Æsir and English both, a gap left free of ink so that they could see each other from where they sat, cross-legged on their respective sides- so close that, but for the translucent wall, they could have touched. He had described everything with as much detail as he could craft- told her about everything, from the stone-paved city streets and great golden buildings that swooped around and tumbled atop each other across the hills, to the few stretches of land left raw and wild and the verdant foliage of Glasislundr, the Glass Garden. To each location he attached a story, an anecdote of his own or a rumour he had collected from the shadows, bringing the realm to life for her- most of his stories involved his brother in some manner or another, but as she reclined comfortably against the glass as she listened to him, her eyes turning to amber with a dreamy smile whenever he laughed at a memory or told her of a trick he had played on someone who thought they could outwit him, it hurt both more and less than he thought it would.

Hate and love were not necessarily mutually exclusive. In fact, he was recently inclined to believe that one could easily spark the other.

"Remind me of how you pronounce the name of the river in old Æsir," the agent said softly, stroking over the image of one of the great breezeways of the palace, done in clean lines and dashes of shadow.

" _Fljót Ás_ ," Loki uttered, slow and careful in the pronunciation for her benefit, the sound flowing easy and familiar on his tongue. He had long since moved to mirror her, his side pressed to the curving wall of his cell, one leg sprawled out in front of him and the other bent, ankle tucked under the opposite knee. "The _God-River_ , roughly. And the ocean is called _Ægir Asgard_."

" _Sea of Asgard_ ," she translated, lifting her eyes to his, loose curls escaping to rest against the curve where her throat met her shoulder. "And the Bifrost- it stretches straight from the gates of palace at the heart of the capital-"

"Out of the great gates, beyond the shallows and over a stretch of sea, to where the Observatory rests upon an outcropping of rock- balanced upon the brink of the world," Loki finished. "The sea streams over the edge in a great waterfall. It is said that it condenses underneath and the salt and most impurities are filtered out by the rock; that, and the reactions with space dust, makes the rain that falls freshwater."

She leaned forwards, resting her temple against the barrier, pressing a hand against the glass and looked up at him. "Loki- what does the rainbow bridge really look like?"

Loki smiled, one hand tentatively rising, brushing his fingertips across the heel of her palm through the glass.

"Like quartz- great ribbon of crystal, polished and cut smooth, four feet thick and wide enough to comfortably accommodate ten walking abreast, supported by great struts of golden steel set deep in the ocean bedrock. Colour is streaked through the strata of the quartz, flashing where it catches the light, as though it had been set with countless fine iridescent wires- electric blue and sapphire, emerald and peridot, ruby and sunshine, turquoise and roseate pink. It lights up wherever you tread on it; you can _hear_ it." He laughed softly when she sat up a little straighter at that. "You can hear it glow when the sole of a boot touches the surface. Under the strum of hooves, it sounds like splinters of crystal ringing together underfoot. The Asgardian Sea rages below, rolling waves of deep waters, so dark that it is almost black, laced with white- pouring over the edge and into ether and mist and stardust. But the skies are the most beautiful part. During the day, they are the same pure blue as this planet's heavens, gleaming off golden spires and towers and sculpted halls. At night, however, it is nothing like the heavens above Midgardian cities. Look into the night of Asgard, and you will see galaxies- marbled colour like clouds of frozen light, caught like webs of gossamer, glittering like metallic dust- studded with stars."

The agent let up a sigh of contentment, her hand slipping down until it was aligned with his, hazel eyes sliding shut. "It sounds so _beautiful_."

Loki hesitated, struck with a sudden, slightly insane idea.

"Would you- like to see? I remember it well enough."

Her eyes snapped open to stare at him in shock.

"You can _show_ me?"

Loki simply gazed down at her, and with a slow, deep exhalation and a tensing of his hand, the chamber melted away.

It began with the clear walls of the cell. They seemed to dissolve, sloughing out of reality as though the thick reinforced glass had been turned into water- and from where they had once stood, colour and texture and new space pooled outwards, hemmed by a glitter of raw, pure magic. Prismatic colour streamed from where they sat, forming a long shimmering slab that became a smooth-surfaced bridge, devoid of guards and railings; where it ended and the magic tipped over its sides, what had once been steel floors sunk and deepened and plunged, until the swathe of magic struck the surface of the water churning below, surging outwards. The ceiling peeled back to reveal fathomless twilight skies, so clear that it seemed as though the clouded cap of the atmosphere had been taken off the surface of the world, leaving nothing between land and space; the star that the realm orbited was setting with a flare of fire on the horizon, far-off formations of stardust and hydrogen clouds brightening as the firmament darkened. At one end of the bridge, just before the realm dropped off into nothingness, the Observatory formed- an orb constructed from an etched brass-gold metal with a tall angular spire at its top, the workings within silent and still. At the other, past several symmetrical supporting arcs of that same distinctive metal rising out of the waves like wings to keep the bridge from snapping under its own weight, a great set of metal doors, carved with the triquetra- the emblem of Asgard, symbolising eternity- loomed up, separating them from the city and mountains beyond.

The air tasted of salt and evening chill. A cool wind, shaved from the surface of the ocean, swirled up around them, tugging at their clothes and hair. Waves seethed with a distant crash against the rocks below. As promised, the spot where they each sat was illuminated, gently, almost humming under the pressure.

She had turned away from him, and was staring up at the sight before her.

"This… this isn't real."

"No," Loki agreed.

She shivered. Asgard's streamlined edges were glinting in the falling dusk, spearing the heavens and glittering with light, as she rose to her feet carefully, a hand gripping the opposite elbow.

"I- Loki, this is…"

The breeze kicked up around her, a long tress yanking free from her braid and streaming across her eyes like a blindfold. She let up an exultant laugh, dragging the offending lock back.

"This is _incredible_! It feels like stepping into a memory- do you remember it this clearly? You had to, to have recreated it-"

"I have had many years and many more sleepless nights to memorise the sight," Loki said as he watched the agent take in the shower of stars above, pivoting slowly with elastic steps, dragging a trail of light with the sweep of the toe of her boots. The Bifrost reflected a shatter of tinted light across her, throwing her into ethereal relief, limned with gold. "I'm glad you like it."

Her entire countenance was incandescent, irises sparkling like cathedral rose windows as she looked at him again, still seated before her on the illusion of the Bifrost.

"Thank you, Loki. This is- indescribable." She laughed, and spun on the toe of her boot. "I can't help but wonder what _else_ you can do."

Loki ran a finger across his lower lip. "I could clone myself, if you like."

"Please don't," the agent said lightly, turning to him, her eyes dancing. "One of you is more than enough. Not to mention that they might think that you've escaped."

"I take your point. Very well, then. What about-" a conspiratorial smile crossed his face, "your favourite season?"

The agent's gaze drifted beyond his shoulder.

"Winter," she said decisively.

Loki's eyebrows contracted slightly. "Why _winter_?" He wondered, bemused by her choice. "A cruel and hollow season with few, if any, redeeming-"

"What are you talking about? Winter is _beautiful_ ," she insisted, staring at him in surprise. "It's quiet, and radiant, crisp and sharp and flawless- the cold is _glorious_." She wrapped her arms around herself, alight, the simulated wind of the Bifrost buffeting her. "Snow, ice, cold air, the low sun in the middle of the day splintering on the frost- it's like the world has been scoured clean, a blank slate for the spring, everything made new and free. I _like_ the cold. I've never been able to adapt to it. The other seasons- heat, rain, wind- but never the cold."

Loki breathed in, and remembered crisp snow, bark crusted with hoarfrost beneath his boots, a world of serene white and stark dark brown, a warm body behind supple leather at his back- taller than him and strong, yet soft with curves, hair turned icy in the air brushing his cheeks like a curtain of cold gossamer. _Never shoot a doe in the winter_ , a voice whispered, breath hot in the chill; _I will show you why in the spring, princeling._

"Winter," he echoed, softly. "If that is what you want…"

Reaching deep through the veins of magic interlocking through him, tapping into his core- he touched his index finger to where the curve of the cell wall, invisible under his illusion, stood.

The temperature dropped, water vapour in the air condensing, and curling vines of fern frost slowly formed and bloomed outwards with a crackle of ice crystals- intricate feathered patterns flooded the invisible glass, building and spilling over themselves, steadily forming a cuff of fragile ice like silver filigree, like fine spun sugar that might shatter at the slightest pressure.

The agent stepped across the illusion of the Bifrost, her steps glowing in her wake, towards the swirls of frost hovering in mid-air in a crest around him.

" _Oh_."

Loki smiled, a flick of his fingers sending a blast of frost shattering the illusion in front of the cell, peeling away the veneer of coloured crystal from the steel panels underneath. She jumped back deftly, startled. Loki drew the heat from the room, ripping water from the air; gauzy ice tore away the Asgardian illusion, dragging black steel back into view, glazing the floors and walls and ceiling and consoles and encasing the controls in hardened frost, spindles of hoarfrost gathering at the soles of her boots.

Her breath emerged in a reverent cloud of icy glitter.

"Loki-"

He realised that didn't need to hear it, whatever she had to say- another word from her and he might scream.

Wordlessly, Loki created a burst of snowflakes, setting them gathering against her skin and catching in her hair with a graceful swirl of his fingers, stealing her breath.

* * *

The ice and frost had thawed and evaporated without a trace, steel and glass and rubber-coated cables cool and dry. Loki was seated on the bench at the back of the cell, eyes closed and head tilted back against the wall, listening to the agent hum absently. The melody of the sweet-toned folk-song echoed off the steel, almost making ring.

 _Lavenders blue, dilly, dilly, rosemary green  
When I am king, dilly, dilly, you shall be queen  
Who told you so, dilly, dilly, who told you so?  
_' _Twas my own heart, dilly, dilly, that told me so-_

There was something hilarious about the juxtaposition of the unsung lyrics with the fact that she was currently sharpening a blade that Loki was fairly sure she wasn't supposed to have. He could not imagine the paranoid director of SHIELD- the same who had sanctioned a cage strong enough to hold an Asgardian that could be dropped from the construct at the press of a button- allowing a young woman that they called an _asset_ and not an _ally_ carry a weapon around their aerial base unless indisputably necessary.

Loki heard the sudden hissing chatter of a voice- _her earpiece_ \- and the agent gave a sharp gasp that was not quite a shriek of surprise, tipping out of her chair where she was lounging, her boots and belt clanging on the metal floor.

Loki kept his eyes closed, and supressed a snort of pure mirth.

" _Don't you dare laugh_."

One eye cracked open briefly, the sliver of an emerald iris glinting beneath a screen of ebony lashes, before shutting again.

"Do you hear me laughing, sweetling?"

"I didn't _have_ to," she retorted with something adorably akin to a pout, clambering to her feet and pressing down on her earpiece, directing a terse reply into it. " _Yes?_ "

She was silent for a long moment, sheathing her knife at her hip. Loki opened his eyes and lowered his head to watch her intently.

" _Oh_. Um- great, that's- great news," she replied without feeling, a half-hearted attempt at an upbeat tone falling flat. Fortunately, to most, it would appear to be a natural side-effect of combined sleep deprivation and stress. "So we're- okay. I take it that it's up to me to- no, it's fine. Nothing will happen to me, I'm certain. Have them seal the outer security doors. I'll- call up. To confirm when I'm done."

Her hand dropped, shoulders sinking by subtle degrees.

"It's time," the agent announced efficiently, turning to look at him over her shoulder. Her smile was unexpectedly authentic, but conflicted. "You're going home."

The announcement hit him like the ache of a muscle being stretched, relief and pain blended so thickly together that they were inextricable.

"And what will happen to you?" Loki wondered, suddenly aware that while he could see his own future unravelling before him in harsh detail and inevitability, her future was blank to him. "Afterwards, after the end- what will you do, after they release you? Will you return home?"

She gave a short humourless laugh. "You haven't figured it out yet? I can't. Not anymore. It wouldn't be _home_ anymore if I did."

At her admission, Loki reached a startling realisation.

"Do you- _envy_ me?"

"Well, yes," she answered bluntly, making her way around the terminal and opening its drawers in a brief search of something. "You have a brother who loves you dearly, even while he hates what you have become, desperate to bring you home. How could I not be envious of that?"

"Thor is a _fool_ ," Loki replied reflexively. "A simple-minded, bull-headed-"

"He is _single_ -minded, not _simple_ -minded," she interrupted, looking up, fierce with conviction. "There is a difference. When he looks at you, he does not see a Frost Giant, or a villain, or a prince, or an enemy, or a god, or competition- he only ever sees his brother. You are clearly his favourite."

 _You are clearly his favourite._

Loki had heard those words once before, long enough ago that he had almost forgotten them.

Misinterpreting his reaction, the agent relented, shaking her head despairingly with a sharp, breathy laugh.

"How can someone so intelligent be so unperceptive?"

"I see enough, darling girl," he said, the response smoothed and streamlined by habit, eyebrows hitching. Loki paused, weighing his words with care. "Enough to know that there is no word for you in any language I know." She straightened, thrown by the declaration. "You, who has said things that no one could have asked or commanded of you, given voice to truth, been- kind, where there was only room for cruelty. You see things truly, but we both know that you were never once obliged to seek them out."

"I've been selfish," she corrected him, soft with melancholy. "I wanted to understand why. It just so happened that you're not nearly as awful as you appear at first glance. Maybe it would be easier if you were. But I looked anyway. And I see you."

Loki could feel all but feel the scar tissue of centuries-old wounds tearing open, as though he was haemorrhaging from within, lungs and chest cavity filling with blood.

Dying in such a way would not be so terrible, he decided, if he must choose.

"What do you see?"

She wavered, stilling where she stood. "You know what I see," she said, softly.

Loki could sense the tension coiled tightly in her shoulders, and wondered what it would take to smooth it away.

" _Tell me_."

Her irises were shadowed gold, sharp as splintered sunlight, the visual definition of clarity.

"I see more than what they made you."

She dropped his gaze and took something from a drawer with a clank and slither of dense metal, walking brusquely to the door of the cell. It unlocked remotely at her presence and slid aside with a pressurised hiss, and she stepped through unhesitatingly. The panel immediately closed and locked behind her impassively, almost catching her heel, fastening her inside the cage with him.

Loki rose to meet her with a stab of surprise, making the motion deliberately slow and telegraphed as possible- but the agent didn't flinch. She stepped into him, onto the outline of the faint circle that marked the centre of the cell, directly underneath the harsh glare of the central light, exposed from every direction.

Nothing separated them; Loki would have barely even had to lift a hand to touch her.

For a long moment, neither of them moved.

She could probably feel the faint ionic charge of magic from his flesh, flowing in time with his pulse and surging up to hum across her own eagerly in a current, as he at last moved towards her, leaving barely a whisper of air between them. It almost felt like the beginning of a ritual, the step to a temple alter, practiced and measured as a dance.

"Why aren't you afraid?" Loki breathed, gazing down at her through his lashes. His hand lifted, laying his fingers across the side of her neck over bared skin and sturdy fabric, encompassing the curve of the base of her throat effortlessly. "You know that I could snap your neck with a single hand."

She observed him carefully. Then, almost demonstratively, she shifted into his grip, head tilting up, until his hand was a collar around her throat, baring her neck, wordlessly daring him to press down on the echo of delicate ridged cartilage beneath.

It would require, he calculated, only a little well-applied pressure to crush her trachea.

Loki's thumb absently stroked the column of her throat, nail scraping over the shadow of her carotid artery in her jugular.

"I know that," she said, breathing deep and slow under him. He could feel the air being drawn in, the rise beneath the seams of her jacket, the grazing rush on his skin as she exhaled. The delicate links of the chain of her necklace shimmered. "It doesn't mean that you will."

"You seem very certain of that," he said silkily, letting his hand slip from her. She leaned back, but not away.

"You won't hurt me," she stated, hinged upon a conviction that took his breath away in its intensity.

She gathered the weight of the metal in her hands, flat links of the long chain clinking, cacophonous in the quiet between them, and presented it to him. Lying heavy across her palms, the chains of the Asgardian-made shackles seemed less like restraints and more like a question.

"No," Loki said, offering his wrists, "I will not."

Her expression reminded him of a single shaft of sunshine crossing chiselled-smooth stone, a dazzling shot of light carving through still air and dust motes, incandescent in its silence. Her fingers brushed his gauntlet as she fiddled with, unlocked and snapped one cuff into place around his wrist.

Instantly, needle-fine interlocking designs seethed through the dull grey metal, glowing molten, as though injected with sudden vicious heat. Loki felt his magic being supressed by the activated array- it was not remotely enough to seal it away beyond reach, but enough to be an inconvenience, and an irritation, a pressure against his chest as firm and unmoving as the weight of Mjölnir- and was unsurprised.

"Merely a power dampener," he assured the agent casually, as the array surged up and just as quickly faded from sight. "Nothing for you to be concerned about, darling. It's completely harmless to you."

She absently rubbed a thumb over a gilded edge of the other cuff, more distant than she had ever been while they were separated by translucent walls. Loki wondered if she would even remember this, in a day, or be able to associate it with herself through the lens of memory.

The thought hurt.

"They- earlier, they mentioned something about a device to keep you from talking."

Loki couldn't resist a sly smile through the smothering, nauseating weight of the shackles' inhibitor. "Oh, I expect so." She fastened the other shackle, hovering over the blaze of the array as it emerged with tentative curiosity, watching it cool and disappear. "But as I said," he turned his palm up into hers, fingertips skimming the inside of her wrist, skating over tendons and veins underneath fragile skin, "do not fret. This is nothing I have not anticipated."

The muscles in the back of her hand fluttered. "But isn't-"

She stopped herself, seeming to realise the futility of rehashing the same argument again, drowning her half-formed question in it. Her gaze slid past him, a different thought forming behind her eyes.

"The books I gave you. Can you take them with you?"

His eyebrow tugged upwards slightly.

"They belong to you."

"I can get other copies," she replied indifferently. "And you haven't read the last one yet. Can you keep them- take them with you- without anyone knowing?"

Loki smiled slightly. "Yes."

"Good. I want you to have them," she said firmly, looking up at him.

The distant roar of the Helicarrier's turbines and drone of the air conditioning pressed in around them.

Loki wavered, uncertain, and reached up- she shivered under the sweep of a single finger across her cheek.

"Thank you, agent," Loki said with absolute sincerity, aching with a strong, sweet sadness. "I believe that I will miss you."

She bit her lip, hard. His brows contracted in concern, dipping his head in an attempt to catch her eyes.

"Agent-?"

" _Astrid_ ," she blurted out- and immediately looked simultaneously guilty and relieved. A deep breath sighed out of her lungs giddily, trailing off into a short breathless laugh, closing her eyes. "My name, my _real_ name, it's- it's Astrid. Astrid Strange."

The expression was so exquisite that he found himself restraining from leaning down and kissing the corner of her mouth, from tasting her smile and the shaky bliss written in it.

" _Astrid_ ," Loki breathed unsteadily.

He had uttered it almost reverently, and she blushed.

"That is a Norse name," Loki said softly. "It means _beloved of the gods._ It- suits you well."

She opened her eyes, cautiously.

"I didn't know that," she admitted, staring at a steel seam in his jacket, bright against the exposed deep green lining and reflecting in the cedar-gold of her irises.

"There is no reason why you should. But now- you do."

It was wrong, unfitting, but Loki didn't know what else to say.

He took her hand in his, and lifted it.

It was a pseudo-kiss- a press of his mouth to the back of her knuckles, nothing more. But his lips effervesced with feeling, nerve-endings sparking.

"Lest we meet again, Astrid."

The words were liquid silver, cool and fluid.

"You know," she said, haltingly, "so long as you don't- bring the destruction and war with you next time- I- I think I'd like that."

Loki felt a ridiculous flutter in his chest- _the last 'gift' to humanity, trapped under the lid of Pandora's jar_ \- and forced himself to speak.

"Then I swear to you," he vowed, hushed, "I will not return to this realm as an instigator of war or bloodshed. I promise," Loki reiterated, intense in his conviction. "You have my word."

She nodded in acknowledgement.

Inevitably, finally, she took the fatal step back- but with her arm outstretched, hand captured loosely in his.

"Goodbye, Loki."

Loki let her go.

When they came for him, he wore a smile that held the snick of a knife. They probably assumed that he was taunting them and, in a twisted and roundabout sense, Loki supposed that he was.

He couldn't smile through the metal of the muzzle- a _muzzle_ , of all things; either Thor had acquired an admirably morbid sense of humour in Loki's absence, or Odin had decided to make his position clear even before he returned. Loki's bet was on the latter; his brother had a new hardness in his sky-blue eyes that Loki would gladly take credit for contributing towards, but the golden Odinson would never be wilfully, consciously cruel. Something deep inside his psyche would have to snap for that to happen. Knowing his brother's mind better than anyone in the cosmos, Loki knew that he could probably perform said snapping given a little well-applied effort and time- and the wandering thought was accompanied by a not-uncommon jolt of horror at the realisation of what the Titan might have done with that knowledge, had Loki not locked it away under a seething, broiling sea of resentment.

The soldier glared strangely at the Tesseract as Banner carefully lifted it with a set of tongs, lowering the cube into the clear central cylindrical chamber of the device, and Loki wondered briefly at the story behind that delicious little reaction. He wasn't given long to ponder on it- as soon as the device was sealed, Thor took one golden handle and proffered the other to him, the weight of the device resting across his forearm, solemn and resigned.

He almost had the bearing of a king.

Within an airless moment and swirl of blue, they found themselves on gold-choked Asgard, its skies dusk to Midgard's day-lit blue. Beyond the glittering city and glinting black sea, its wild mountains and forests loomed as silhouettes in the distance, barely a shade lighter than the skies.

Thor removed the muzzle, and Loki half-heard himself make a sarcastic snipe.

They escorted him to a secluded cell, for him to await official judgement from the Allfather. Before they even closed the door, Loki had counted different fifteen ways that he could have fed them chaos from within the walls.

Instead, surrounded by solitude and pitch black and the scent of stone, he closed his eyes and dreamed through someone else's eyes.

* * *

Even as she stood in front of the cell, she didn't know why she had come back.

Sixteen full hours of sleep had left her feeling exhausted and ill, and both her allocated rooms and the holding chamber had been left unguarded. In the end, she supposed that was reason enough.

She didn't know how long she stood there, staring into the empty deactivated cell, arms wrapped around her middle, before Natasha finally spoke.

"You okay?"

She blinked. "Yeah," she said softly.

It wasn't a surprise to be found by her. On days when Natasha was assigned to a mission requiring her specific skillset, progress on the APOLLO system effectively ground to a halt. She had taken to amusing herself by finding and going to all the places where she knew she shouldn't be- first aboard the Helicarrier, and then in the central facility known as the Triskelion. Whenever Natasha arrived during one of these defiant wanderings, she would seek her out, join her, and they would spend the rest of the day slacking off.

It was nice. Natasha was kind like that, in ways that were passing and seemingly inconsequential and easily forgotten.

Natasha came closer, her footfalls quiet- not enough to escape her notice, but quiet all the same.

"It's alright not to be, you know. After everything."

She considered this, not turning around.

"I know that. But is it okay to be okay?"

Exactly as she knew it would, the question drew Natasha up short.

"I guess that depends on you."

She could feel Natasha at her shoulder, the non-answer vulcanising the air. She felt sick with something that felt like regret, a confession- _I liked him, you know_ \- hollow in her throat.

She pressed a hand to her stomach.

"When are we getting back to work?"

It wasn't the same as lying, and she had never sworn any allegiance to SHIELD. If they expected full disclosure from her, that was their mistake.

"As soon as possible," Natasha replied. "We're heading to the Hub as soon as possible to complete the research."

"Not the Triskelion?"

"It's going to be busy over there for a while."

She didn't bother asking why. Her SHIELD clearance was non-existent on everything except APOLLO, which meant asking anything further would result in either a lie or another non-answer.

"When are we heading out?"

"There's a quinjet being fuelled up now." Natasha hesitated. "We have time, if you need it."

She nodded.

"Um. Yes. Please. I just- need a second. I'll catch up."

"Okay," Natasha said, briefly laying a warm hand on her shoulder. "I'll meet you up top."

She heard her slip away, the door to the chamber left open behind her. Waiting until the swift-step of Natasha's strides faded with the distance, she snapped into motion and walked determinedly over to the cell's control panel. They had left it unlocked, without the need for a passcode- the door slid open at the touch of a button.

She walked inside, wondering what she was looking for- perhaps some trace of his existence. But the books were gone, and the only place where something might be hidden from sight was-

She paused.

Slowly, she knelt, and dipped her head to see beneath the bench.

There, in the shadows, lay swatch of fine silk, neatly folded upon itself several times over.

She reached underneath cautiously, picking it up, and its length unravelled from the loose folds with a slip and a weightless flutter, spilling across her hands in a tumble of beautiful fabric and pooling over her knees and the sterile floor. It was a long scarf- not the elegant opera one that she had seen with a Dolce and Gabbana suit in the stills from Stuttgart, but simpler, wider, lighter, devoid of embroidery and pattern, at least at first glance; beneath her touch, there didn't even seem to be a weave to it, seamless and cool to the touch as the kiss he had left on her skin. The fabric- insubstantial as silk, yet as soft as muslin, and at moments as radiant as satin- was a distinctive emerald green, seeming to catch with gossamer-fine threads of gold when the light caught it.

She fingered it for a moment, wondering what to think- it had been left for her- and lifted it to her face. It crumpled against her mouth and nose like sea foam solidified, and her lungs filled with pine sap and hazy wood-smoke and citrus, inundated with the sharp indescribable smell of _winter_.

She pressed it to her chest, and stood, walking out of the cage, stuffing the scarf inside her jacket. Her pulse was jumping.

Twenty minutes later, she was heading to the top of the Helicarrier, her small bag packed. It was devoid of three books- three of the only personal items she had brought with her- but had gained a scarf, crushed down at the bottom and wrapped safely in a shirt.

* * *

He was condemned to a solitary cell in the dungeons. The length of his sentence exceeded his expected lifespan.

However, the declaration that he would never again see the one who had pled his non-existent case and kept him alive- well did Asgard's king know how to dress cruelty as mercy- lasted all of three hours. Loki might have thrown his head back and laughed when Frigga appeared, dressed in silver armour and the lovely gradated shades of blue she favoured and not a single hint of guilt, had the grief glimmering in her eyes- so like Thor's, if a hue closer to silver satin than Midgard's skies; Loki hated himself for noticing- not cut so deep.

He was brittle, but not hostile; he couldn't bear to be. Her words were careful as she outfitted the frighteningly blank white room with furniture and books, and her farewell and promise to return was filled with platitudes that Loki could not quite ignore as empty.

When he was alone, Loki summoned the three books and carefully mixed them amongst the others.

Shakespeare's works blended in fairly well, despite not being as weathered as his prized leather-bound grimoires, collected from various magic-rich realms and hidden libraries. The cover of the poetry anthology was subtly different from the binding of similar slim volumes, but it fit well enough to be excused at a glance. The paperback was impossible to hide in plain sight; Loki cast a thin semi-permanent illusion upon it that would turn the eye aside, and kept it tucked beneath the cushions of the chaise for good measure. He soon suspected that the shimmering gold energy shield, facing the entirety of one wall of the cell and the two adjacent like an observation tank, had been enhanced to contain or weaken his magic; no spell he cast reached beyond the confines of the cell.

The first time Loki opened _To Kill A Mockingbird_ , a slip of paper fluttered out of its pages. He thought that the cover had torn for a split second, before noticing that the paper was crisply edged and folded in two.

He closed the book one-handed and knelt, picking up and unfolding the note.

 _To see a World in a Grain of Sand  
And a Heaven in a Wild Flower,  
Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand  
And Eternity in an hour._

 _A Truth that's told with bad intent  
Beats all the Lies you can invent.  
It is right it should be so;  
We were made for Joy and Woe;  
And when this we rightly know  
Through the World we safely go._

Then, in soft hesitant loops-

 _Loki- I hope you find what you're looking for.  
A.N.S._

Loki closed his eyes, and pressed the paper to his mouth.

* * *

"What will you do?"

She lifted her head to the cloud-streaked skies, breathing in the free open air and mulling over the question, her long tresses and Natasha's shorter red curls tossed up in the high winds billowing across the ivory-capped sun. She had asked to be dropped somewhere in England where she could walk for a few hours and find a branch of the motorway; she could find her way back to nowhere from there.

What she had really wanted to do was go straight back to New York City- perhaps melt away onto the Spanish Coast, or possibly Gibraltar, for a few months beforehand to gather herself together- but she knew better than to think that SHIELD wouldn't be tracking her movements. Natasha had told her through the guise of a passing comment that the obvious choice might be the preferable one, if she wanted to make the surveillance detail careless. Eventually, she would slip underground and fall off their radar.

SHIELD was economic with its resources, and she was a low priority.

"You know what they say," she said, looking out across the rolling patchwork hills. "If you stand still for long enough, something is bound to crash into you."

Natasha's full mouth twisted, thoughtfully and in approval. "Wise words," she teased, half serious.

She looked away, throwing her already tangled hair out of her eyes.

"I know, by the way."

Natasha's brow furrowed slightly.

"Know what?"

"That it never sat right with you," she said, hooking her thumbs into the straps of her backpack and tugging them more securely over her shoulders, "any of this. SHIELD acquiring me for APOLLO, taking me hostage in a floating steel fortress, threatening to put me on an international watch list if I didn't help. But you saw the benefits of the end goal, so you did your job. I never minded. And you were nice to me. So thank you."

Natasha gazed at her appraisingly.

"Are you ever _not_ painfully honest?"

She laughed knowingly. "Admit it: you like that about me."

Natasha smirked, looking away. "It's refreshing," she admitted breezily, "not necessarily _smart_ , but refreshing. You really have to learn how to lie."

Natasha paused for a long moment- calculating, weighing up chance, clockwork visible in her irises- her expression as multi-layered as a _matryoshka_ doll.

"You know, if you wanted to stay on- or if running ever lost its lustre- I could put in a good word for you. SHIELD could use someone like you."

 _SHIELD_. Or, _the_ shield, as Coulson had claimed.

Since the secret organisation with the forced acronym had set her to work on the APOLLO system, exactly three people had been genuinely nice to her: two of them were the members of STRIKE Team Delta. Natasha was the one she saw the most, and had acknowledged her resentment towards those who handed down her orders without judgement; Clint saw people in a way that no one, least of all the upper echelons of SHIELD, seemed to fully appreciate- and he had a sense of humour.

They had bought her chocolate, once: a massive slab of Cadbury's, smooth and silky in perfect purple foil, after they had been away on a four-day mission in the UK, having remembered how she had complained that most American brands seemed to carry an awful aftertaste that made her feel sick. Neither of them knew that she had spent the previous night smothering sobs into her pillow, or that she rationed out half a block every time she felt her throat close up and the helplessness set in within her windowless room and meditation didn't help.

The bar was gone long before the Battle of New York.

It wasn't Natasha's fault. Nor was it Clint's.

"I appreciate the offer, but- I kind of make it a policy of mine never to work for anyone who has kidnapped me."

Natasha's sage eyes darted down briefly- not surprised, but a little disappointed. It was strange, how green eyes could be so different. His had been unreal, bitter as almonds, an unrelenting and unforgiving emerald that tricked with a gleam of pale sapphire when the light struck them wrong. Natasha's were a softer, dustier, smokier shade, sepia pin-wheeling around her pupils.

"But keep in touch," she added, lightly. "And if you're ever around on a mission, I'll be willing to assist- I'm sure SHIELD will be keeping tabs on me for a while, so you have no excuse for not checking in."

Natasha huffed out a short laugh. "I don't suppose that I do." Finally, she gave a smile. "Take care of yourself, firebrand."

 _Firebrand_ was Clint's nickname for her. No one ever called her by her real name at SHIELD; no one knew it. The majority had called her _agent_ , often with a tint of derision- she was no agent, not one of theirs, and the name was a reminder of that.

Truthfully, she preferred it that way.

She stepped forwards, and hugged Natasha.

Natasha hugged her back.

The quinjet left scars in the damp soil of the field where it had landed, the long grass flattened from the turbines, the roar of its engines fading. She eased her bag off her shoulders for a moment, and fished out the length of green silk. Wrapping it around her throat and knotting it at the back of her neck, she flipped the trapped strands of her hair free of her collar, combing through the snarls and twisting its length into a taut rope.

Straightening her necklace, she shouldered her bag again and began walking, long tails of silk floating in the wind like a banner.

* * *

He dreamed through her eyes.

Loki ignored the metallic taste in his mouth, swallowing it down, tracing out the ragged edge of the wound he had bitten into the soft flesh inside his cheek with his tongue. Between the steady tedium and his mother's intermittent visits, the books and the influx of prisoners escorted in as insurgencies and disorder across the Nine were defeated by Asgardian forces, he dreamed through her.

He had nothing to compare it to, but her mind was music- a symphony, all soaring arias and bright crescendos and a powerful undercurrent surging underneath.

Her skies were often bright mother of pearl, marbled with pewter, and she opened up her windows to the smell of rain. Her mornings tasted of pastry and sweet coffee and artificial mint, her nights sounded of solitude and bare feet on wood floors and the muffled hum of a city beyond glass. Her days were accompanied by the snap of heels on asphalt and the sensation of impossibly smooth silk wrapped around her neck like a lover, a caress of emerald green that opened like wings down her back, lifting in the slightest breeze.

He was inside her head when she realised that the delicate gold patterns in the silk were not random- that they were stylised ivy vines entwined with blossoms, chains of blooms shaped like bleeding hearts and neat, pretty little peach flowers, the contrived curling of the vines forming shapes like butterfly wings.

She never wore it when she accepted a job, or when she was on one- too distinctive, the risk of leaving fibres, the fear of it being snagged or soot-stained or ruined by accelerant- but in her free time, she wore it constantly. Loki didn't know what it meant and preferred not to speculate, for with that came foreseeable disappointment.

And yet.

Loki glanced into her life, and felt her brush her fingertips along the liquid choker. It sat nicely over the fine chain of her necklace.

If his mother noticed his subtly lighter mood when she visited later that day, she didn't mention it except in the shade of her smile.

* * *

She dreamed.

She hadn't dreamed since she was a child, and never naturally. Suddenly starting to, a few nights every month, was a warning sign.

She knew that she should probably contact SHIELD about it.

Instead, she continued to dream, etched in stunning detail. She dreamed of cool quiet shadow, of silver and intricacies, of languages she understood until she woke up. She dreamed of whisper-soft linen, of paper and leather and ink, of brass-blonde curls and warmth and lilac perfume. She dreamed of flashes of mercurial emotion, of a storm pinned beneath ice, of a blank white room with windows of electrified gold and elegant wrought iron furniture.

She woke up, one night, crying and hyperventilating in a cold sweat, eyelids burning with the flash-images of that featureless room and the forcefield screens throwing something back with a clatter and _pain_ , devouring guilt, grief, rage, all directed onto the self as though expecting it the entire time, _you see, you_ monster. She panicked, unable to shake the feeling, pacing her darkened room, whimpering, desperately attempting to centre herself and think rationally and retie her hair and cool her sheets off all while trembling violently, feeling as though she was going mad. She eventually crouched down and curled in on herself, sobbing. The emotion was not her own, she could feel it, but she would have done anything to stop it.

She didn't remember climbing back into bed, sinking into her pillows, drawing up the covers around her. She only remembered falling asleep, to the imagined soothing and whispering of an apology.

 _I'm sorry I'm so sorry I did not mean for that to happen I'm sorry go back to sleep darling go to sleep it's alright hush_

That was her second warning sign. It was her own fault that she didn't pay attention to it.

She started dreaming a little differently, after that. She began to dream of dawn filtering through diaphanous curtains and smoothed stone the colour of parchment, of raspberries frozen in crystallised honey and braziers burning through the night, of knives and bruises and sweat and blood under her nails.

Her third sign came when SHIELD fell, a year and eleven months to the day of the Battle of New York.

She didn't know _how_ he had known, but he had, and had warned her of the coming fallout without placing her in immediate danger with the knowledge. And with SHIELD's fall, she finally realised how he had done it: HYDRA agents. He had used HYDRA agents who were masquerading as SHIELD, who _were_ SHIELD for all intents and purposes; the rot of an apple was still the apple, and SHIELD was HYDRA and HYDRA was SHIELD.

Well, not all of them.

Her specialism, as SHIELD knew it, lay in torching things to oblivion, stealing the truth, and escaping danger untouched- and she put those skills to work as best she could and for as little as they turned out to be worth. She couldn't reach Natasha, but she managed to contact Clint- he was on a mission, a good distance from any major bases, he told her, where most of the attacks were being launched- and tell him not to go to any safe houses that SHIELD personnel might know about. She asked what she could do, and he sent her a list of coordinates, and numbers to text them to.

 _Thanks, firebrand,_ Clint had said before the line went dead.

Toying with the chain around her neck, knees drawn up to her chest, she sat and watched the body count rise in faces and names and numbers on the news as SHIELD crumbled and the Triskelion was reduced to rubble and three Helicarriers were plunged into the Potomac River.

* * *

The King of Asgard slept, as motionless and pale as a corpse, under the silken furs of beasts slain for sport and a dome of Æsir enchantments that made the air taste of the fizzing acidity of putrid fruit. The great ornate slabs of the golden doors that opened onto the balcony were firmly closed, as were those that led into the hallways beyond, and the room was dim and quiet around the vast rounded bed.

The shadows suited the lone figure who sat beside it, slouched upon his seat, one finger tracing over his bottom lip as the other hand gripped a great spear that crackled with authority.

"I sent the Aether to the Collector," Loki announced, voice measured out with a deceptive softness that yielded nothing, verdant eyes fixed upon the prone form of the one he had once called _father_. The word was sour in his mind and in his mouth. "It seemed sensible, even if Tivan seeks the other Stones for himself; having two in the same location is too dangerous and it will be well protected with him. I tasked Sif and Volstagg with escorting it to Knowhere. Meanwhile, the Bifrost and the ports have been reopened, trade is restored, diplomatic ties are being honoured- although there are no physical delegations, only written exchange in view of our- loss-" he tripped over the word, hastily recovering with a swallow and determined flutter of his lashes, "and the masons have done quick work repairing the worst of the damage around the city. Other wounds will take longer to heal- of course. But that will take time. It is something that I can give them. We have enough."

Loki paused, turning Gungnir in his grip absently, the gloss-smooth curves of the spearhead gleaming in the low light, chasing over grooves and ridges.

"No one has realised that you have long since slipped into Odinsleep, nor that I wear your face and sit upon Hliðskjálf. No need to fret," he added silkily. "Before you wake, I will cloud your memory- a lapse, even one of several months, might be blamed upon grief and exhaustion. The spell is unlikely to last forever, but whoever said it _needs_ to? I need only a little time, and as I said: we have enough. I have made certain to shield myself from Heimdall and make no decisions that seem too uncharacteristic of you. You will not remember this. Or me. Or this conversation, I suppose."

Slowly, Loki leaned forwards, serene with malice.

"But, _oh_ , I hope that you are listening. It is _so rare_ that I had you as a captive audience- _never_ , actually, I think is fairly accurate. Why waste an opportunity?"

He sat back again, admiring the flicker of Gungnir in the darkness imperiously.

"Thor has returned to Midgard," Loki announced coldly, "with the Allfather's implicit blessing. Oh, I know you would never do that, not after he defied you, but it made him happy, and I framed it in such a way that he believed it. He offered to return Mjölnir in his refusal of the throne. And he explained his decision with- temperance. Strange- but I think he is learning. He is no longer such a brash, ignorant, arrogant child, and that is through nothing that you have done. I have little doubt that he will return, one day, and take the mantle of king. Who knows, he may even wear it well-"

Loki cut off the thought, stilling.

He forced a laugh.

"Better than his predecessor, at least."

He adjusted his grip on Gungnir.

It would be so very easy to kill him- with an energy blast from the spear, tearing apart his constituent molecules until he lay in glowing radioactive dust, or with one of the swords hidden at the post of the gold frame of the bed, running him through the heart or remaining eye.

"Here is something interesting that you might like to hear, _Allfather_. I knew." Loki turned his gaze back on Odin, unnervingly blank. "That you _lied_ \- you and them- when she slipped beyond Heimdall's sight, centuries ago and without a trace, knowing what it meant. What it _had_ to mean. I heard _everything_."

Loki could still remember it, clearer than crystal and thrice as sharp, as though he could step back into the moment and be immersed by it afresh if only he closed his eyes. He remembered the raised voices of his family in the chamber beyond his hiding place, drawn there by curiosity as to the cause of such a secluded, heated dispute. He remembered Odin, immovable and pitiless, his mother attempting to reason with him with respectful but incensed force, his brother enraged and arguing fiercely against it, and the numbness that set in as realisation gripped him. He remembered falling back against the wall and dropping to the floor, hidden in broken shadow, smothering a gasp of pain into his hand.

Loki remembered feeling every last thought of _one day_ and _I can't wait to see you again_ and _I'll tell you all about it_ die, one by one, and turn to ash in his mouth.

"But there are things that even Asgard's Gatekeeper cannot see," Loki continued, dark and soft as night. He hadn't noticed that he was shaking. "And I gave her my word. _I intend to keep it_."

* * *

She had been wearing white when they captured her- canvas shorts and a tank top. It showed the blood, wet crimson slowly turning tacky burgundy-black as it dried.

SHIELD was watching; she knew they would be when they dragged her into the dark concrete room and slammed the reinforced steel door and she had seen the blink of a red light and gleam of a camera lens in one upper corner. She was inexperienced in espionage, but she wasn't naïve, and she couldn't be lied to- she knew that SHIELD wasn't truly dead, no more so than Fury or Coulson were, and that they would be watching, patching into the feed to see if she talked, to mitigate for the damage if she did. But there would be no extraction.

She didn't particularly care who her abductors were or who they worked for (not HYDRA, too lacking in insider knowledge and nuanced questions; not inexperienced, too well coordinated in their attack; not mercenaries, too invested; not too gifted in extricating information from unwilling sources, they used physical torture that caused significant blood loss, and _enhanced interrogation methods_ didn't work as well as Hollywood and the US government claimed). They had shoved her into the chair bolted to the cold floor, shackled her ankles, strapped her wrists at the base of her spine with cable ties and asked why SHIELD had wanted her.

When she had replied that there were politer ways of asking, they punched her in the mouth.

She told them nothing. Keeping secrets wasn't the same as lying.

"Are you ready to cooperate yet, Miss Celsius?" One of them asked her- his accent sounded Eastern European, but she couldn't decide which Slavic country he hailed from. Natasha would know in a heartbeat.

She let her head drop back, the pendant of her necklace sliding up against her sternum, clinging to consciousness. It had been thirty-two hours since they had torn off her blindfold and dragged her to the room by her hair. There were dull-blade gouges in her upper arms, streaming red and crusting. Her stomach was heavily bruised, jaw and eye socket pounding, scalp bleeding across one brow and the side of her face, dripping onto her chest, and it was a little hard to breathe thanks to them plunging her head repeatedly into a trough full of ice-water. It was crude, but effective. They didn't know what her utility was to SHIELD, so they couldn't risk anything too drastic, just in case she only proved to be useful to them with her body more or less intact.

Her head hurt, but _truth_ sliced through the haze of pain with the keenness of a sword.

"Die in a fire," she suggested.

It wasn't loyalty. It was one part spite, one part defiance, three parts a moral decision. He still backhanded her for it, hard enough to make her vision spin.

They would kill her before they broke her. And they were _not_ going to kill her.

"This is going nowhere fast," she heard the other- an American, with more of a taste for bribery that bludgeoning, but possessing enough pent-up viciousness to perform the latter with insouciance- complain from behind her.

"Well I'm not going to shoot her in the fucking kneecaps, am I," the first bit back exasperatedly, echoing out in a ricochet. The Slav, on the other hand, had all the finesse and imagination in matters of persuasion of a bull released in a china shop, and was responsible for the gashes in her right arm which had all but scooped a chunk of her flesh out each. "She'd probably black the fuck out before she told us anything-"

"You don't _have_ to shoot her in the-"

"What, use a tire iron or something? _Eh_. She _would_ bleed less."

"No, just- stick a few needles under her nailbeds. Put her arm in a vice, I don't know. She'll soon start talking."

"Well you do it, then, you fucking genius."

"Whenever you morons are ready," she interrupted idly, tracing her tongue over the new laceration on the inside of her lip as she gingerly turned her head back to a comfortable angle, her mind eerily yet comfortably blank, as though she had just finished meditating. Apparently the dehydration and violence was short-circuiting her brain.

They didn't retaliate, for once. The American sourced a pack of sewing needles from the tray to her right- most of the instruments resting there were more for intimidation than use in her case, the needles intended for cheap first aid in case someone cut slightly too deep- and moved behind her, grabbing the index finger of her left hand.

He had to kneel to see what he was doing.

It was an impulsive, stupid decision, and she made it anyway.

A dull satisfying crunch of cartilage sounded when she threw her head back, his voice thick through the blood flooding down his throat.

" _Bitch!_ "

" _Idiot_ ," she snarled back, before a short shriek of pain was torn out of her as he grabbed her finger and rammed the needle beneath the curve of her nail. The sound was raw, rasping with rage and ringing through the small room so forcefully that it made the stagnant air shudder.

They waited until she was slumped forwards, the back of the chair splitting open congealing wounds as she choked back sobs, shuddering, tears piercing the corners of her eyes. She strained against the cable ties, wrists bleeding, her body shuttering and instinctively curling in on itself, focusing on the icy touch of the concrete beneath her bare feet and biting edges of the shackles. She breathed through it, shielding her face from them with her hair, biting down on her lip until it split open.

The Slavic one was pleasantly surprised with the result, audible in his lack of comment.

A sudden burst of muffled, panicked shouting echoed from outside, dampened by the thick walls.

Her interrogators shifted, perturbed, and she lifted her head, listening intently.

The chaos cut off with a spatter of something thick and wet.

"What the _hell_ -"

The four-inch thick metal door blasted inwards, shards of shrapnel from the obliterated lock and hinges scattering. The dark shape of a severed head rolled in with it.

The American, nose still bleeding heavily, backed up and drew his sidearm- and the gun morphed into a black cobra, fangs bared within a wickedly wide jaw. He dropped it with a yelp, skittering away as the snake snapped like a whip, hissing and striking at his ankles. The Slav grabbed a short machete and swung at the tall silhouetted figure who was striding in, purposeful and casual, in the wake of the disembodied head.

Loki- unhinged and bloodstained and vengeful in full magnificent armour, glittering in the weak light streaming into the room from behind him- calmly grasped the wrist of her interrogator, and twisted, ruthlessly. She could hear the sickening grind and ominous pop of bone joints even as the knife clattered to the floor.

Anyone else would have thought that it was a hallucination.

"I would love nothing more than to watch you die screaming," Loki stated frostily. The Slav whimpered, knees threatening to buckle as the Loki's deceptively slim fingers snapped his bones, "to pluck out your eyes, and watch you _writhe_. But I have _far_ more important matters to attend to."

The American, escaping the serpent snapping at his heels, grabbed his other handgun and took aim.

Without so much as glancing in his direction, Loki's free hand snapped out- she felt something slice past her, above her head, and was unsurprised by the thud of folding limbs and clatter of a gun that followed. A dagger like a shard of polished blue glass materialised between his fingers and slipped between the Slav's ribs, deliberately puncturing a lung and piercing the heart, and Loki let him drop to bleed out at his feet.

The moment that Loki's eyes fell on her, the cold rage liquefied into something soft and frantic.

" _Astra_ ," he breathed, sinking to his knees in front of her and stripping off his ebony gloves, taking her face between gentle hands, "what have they done to you?"

He looked startlingly young for a second- a shimmer of sweetness, gentleness, fragility- so much so that it tugged at her, like a memory from a dream, something she should remember but couldn't. Closing her eyes, she leaned into the cool stroke of his thumbs, feeling him thread his fingers through her hair, breaking the patina of blood clotting it.

Her restraints crumbled with a hiss of smoke and green-gold light, and she smothered a cry of pain-laced relief, the metal and plastic disintegrating. The stiff arch of her spine broke as her shoulders unlocked, arms falling forwards, bending and reaching to rest her hands on his gauntlets. Her aching muscles shrieked.

Determinedly, she blinked back the blur in her vision, forcing her body back into working order. A ragged bolt of pain like a lightning chain drew her up short with a gasp as she flexed the fingers of her left hand.

Loki's attention snagged on the sliver of silver rammed beneath her nail, and his jaw tightened with a flicker of something dark. He eased it out without a word, hurling it away and kissing her bloodied fingertip.

"You're here," she managed at last, the defiant coals that had kept her energised dimming. Loki supported her easily, gently sucking the blood away from her finger. She shivered under the careful, wet slick sweep of his tongue, and the frighteningly natural intimacy of it. "I don't- h-how are you _here_?"

"It doesn't matter," he murmured, releasing her finger. "You're _safe_."

She shifted and stared into him, with the gaze that could deconstruct someone at a glance and put them back together with another. Even lightheaded from blood loss and sleep deprivation, she could see the truth in his eyes clearer than day, and buckled into him, her forehead resting against his shoulder.

"You came for me," she breathed incredulously.

"Of course I did," Loki said, shifting up to brush his mouth against the cuts on her upper arms, lashes lowering. A glimmer of magic sparked from his lips, and the worst of the pain evaporated with her next breath, followed by the odd itch of broken skin sealing- she gnawed at the dried blood at her lip, peeling it away with a sting to expose the new skin. "I promised, did I not?"

She couldn't remember him making any such promise- only one stating that, if he returned, it wouldn't be with the purpose of bringing war in his wake- but he wasn't lying, and the shocking tenderness of Loki's touch, almost as though he was frightened of hurting her any further, was so wonderful that she simply ignored it.

Loki gathered her up in his arms, and she clung to his shoulders, hiding away in the crook of his neck, conscious of the lean strength of him beneath the leather as he carried her effortlessly.

"I don't understand," she admitted, the gold band inlaid in his breastplate cold against her mouth.

"Don't worry; you will, in time," Loki promised smoothly, a seam of warmth running through. "You always do."

She wanted to ask what he meant- but the light was blinding behind the curtain of her hair and she could feel a cool breeze on her exposed flesh and the thrum of his heart and-

She woke up in the small apartment she had rented for her latest job, lying on the bed with a comforter thrown over her. It was raining outside, and the window had been opened a sliver. She sat up, and couldn't find a single mark or fleck of blood on her. Her hair was braided to prevent it from tangling, her clothes and skin were clean, and the lock on the front door, when she got up to check, and been repaired and reinforced.

With a sigh, she padded into the adjacent kitchen and set the kettle to boil. SHIELD would be coming for her by now, and she might as well offer them tea while she packed.

The pendant of her necklace rested against her heart as she waited- heavy gold wrought in the shape of key, its hilt like wings and wrapped around a roughly cut stone, its strata setting off pinprick spangles of colour when the light struck it just right.

* * *

 **.::.**

* * *

In Norse mythology, Sigyn is a Vanir goddess, daughter of Freyja and the wife of Loki. While attested to several times in various sources, little information is given about her beyond minor roles in tales of other gods. Sigyn is the goddess of fidelity, considered the most honest of the gods, and the protector and enforcer of oaths and bonds. Some sources suggest that she is a warrior figure, as she is mentioned as being present on a number of battlefields alongside gods and goddesses of warfare, such as Thor and Sif.

That is what most scholastic sources claim.

And, yes, in the old stories that Erik Selvig's mother used to tell him, Sigyn was a daughter of Freyja, and a goddess to whom deceptions and lies in all their forms were less than air, the truth laying itself before her like a supplicant. But though she despised oathbreakers- a word of the greatest offence and highest insult in the minds of Erik's ancestors- she understood that pure truth when weaponised was often crueller than a lie.

But the stories had it wrong. The Vana princess Freyja bore a daughter named Sigyn, but the title of _Goddess of Fidelity_ refers to another. She, too, was called Sigyn at birth, raised in Vanaheim under the protection and in the halls of Lady Freyja, in Fólkvangr. Her sister-warriors soon gave her a different name, one intended to be mocking, but that she eventually took as her own.

They called her _Astrid_.

* * *

 _end of PART I_

* * *

 _And so we have the end of the beginning. This is only Part One- the part of the series that will follow directly afterwards will be_ Infinity in the Palm of Your Hand _, which will technically be Part Three. Part Two will be a prequel-_ Heaven in a Wildflower- _that I'll add to bit by bit, and as and when I have time. Thank you so, so much to everyone who has read, followed and favourited this mess- and particularly those who encouraged me to, at least, see this opus finished._


	4. Infinity in the Palm of Your Hand

While this isn't an update on this work specifically (sorry about that,) I realised that there are a fair number of people who have this on their follows list, so it's the best way to update you if you're interested: **the direct sequel to** ** _A World in a Grain of Sand_** **is up as of yesterday, both on here and AO3**. You'll find _Infinity in the Palm of Your Hand_ in the _Avengers_ fandom section- unfortunately, doesn't have an umbrella Marvel Cinematic Universe category, apparently- or, you can find it through my profile. Call it my Valentines Day gift to you! (Especially as it took me so long to get back to it. In my defence, university has been eating up all of my time, and I had a chapter for another work I absolutely had to finish and post before I got back to _When the Moon Fell in Love with the Sun_.)

Happy reading! And as ever, thank you.

\- C.J.


End file.
